


There Will Come Soft Rains

by Heronfem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Murder, F/F, F/M, M/M, Royalty, Sam Winchester in leather pants, Unhappy marriages, discussion of culturally appropriate taking of mistresses, discussions of alcoholism, magic (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2288591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Novak's father and uncle brought down the old corrupt government in their county and installed a new one.  The daughter of a revolution, beloved by her country and family, she is more than willing to accept marriage into the last monarchy on Earth, run by one King Dean Winchester, as a way of keeping an old treaty alive and well.  </p>
<p>Claire is marrying Kirstiana, the second child, a headstrong girl with all of Dean’s stubbornness and her mother’s beauty.  When Claire arrives, she finds a family drowning in confusion and King Dean Winchester's alcoholism.  She struggles to find balance, and settles into routine, broken up after an attempt on her life.  As Claire tries to navigate her way through the complicated, and frankly sometimes bizarre, cultural ideals of the people she will become princess of, she must also find a way to woo her soon to be wife away from soon-to-be-mistress Aidan, who’s using Krissy for his own advancement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Will Come Soft Rains

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to my beta, the fantastic theresstillme.tumblr.com, who put up with me being so slow on this. If the art is ever posted, I'll add the masterpost here.
> 
> This was such a fantastic project, I really hope you all enjoy it. I certainly had fun writing it.

_There will come soft rains_ , her father had always whispered to her before tucking her in. The world was dark around her now, the limo's soft seats a cradle to hold her. She held herself tall and composed, face set and unmoving. And swallows circling with their shimmering sound.

Outside, the world sped along. The convoy moved quickly, their sole purpose her protection. Darkness wrapped them all in her safe cloak and ferried them along, with only night vision to help. No lights came from the cars- she was too precious to risk anyone seeing headlights on the road before them. When she was younger she would have been thrilled at the thought of all of this, just for her. Now it was a horrific thought, that she was now so valuable she had to be cocooned from the world.

"It won't be long now," the driver said softly.

_And frogs in the pools singing at night, and wild plum trees in tremulous white;_

The lake outside the window shimmered with the light of the moon, glinting over its surface. She wished she could step outside and run wild through the grasses and into the water, let it envelop her like it was meant to, to drown out the raging fire that filled her veins. Spring was here, and sorrow had come home to roost. She was alone in the darkness.

_Robins will wear their feathery fire,_

_whistling their whims on a low fence wire;_

_And not one will know of the war, not one_

_Will care at last when it is done._

_No one would mind, neither bird nor tree_

_If mankind would perish utterly;_

"We're here, my lady," the driver said, and she opened her eyes. She hadn't realized that she had closed them, but here they were. The palace was vast, and though she sat straight upright, dawn was breaking to the East and spilling light across the long buildings. Turrets and towers jutted towards the sky at random intervals. Fragile railings ran around the sides and up over the tops of the roof. Huge stained glass windows gleamed in the early light, roses and fantastic beasts caught forever in still frames. Two people stood out on the steps that led up to the huge main doors.

_And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,_

_Would scarcely know that we were gone._

oOo

Fifteen years ago, James Novak staged a revolution that changed a country for good. He was made president, his brother took up the position of chief advisor, and he set about ruling a country. He was a beloved leader, and though elections were held every year, had continued to hold the presidency. They joined the UN, made certain that all the voting was fair, and implemented an entirely new constitution. This did not escape the notice of their closest neighbor, the kingdom that Dean Winchester ruled over. The family was strong politically on the world stage, loved to an almost fanatic degree, and stable enough that nobody could raise a peep about proper democratic societies. Dean had become enamored with the little country that could, and at five years old, Claire Novak became a pawn in a political scheme to bring the two countries together. She was to marry Benjamin, the eldest, and take the Queenship when Benjamin ascended the throne as King in order to bring life back to an old treaty that had been forgotten over a century earlier.

Things failed rather quickly once Benjamin turned 18. Somehow he managed to elope with one of the Amazon's, Emma, who as a member of Dean's elite guard should have been entirely untouchable. The whole thing was a scandal, so Dean quietly called James Novak, and a new arrangement was made.

Claire was now to marry the King's daughter, Kirstiana. There would be no argument. The Novak line would join the Winchester line, one way or another, and she was the sole surviving child of her father's line. Benjamin, the eldest, was already married and now expecting a child with his apparently formidable wife, so Claire found herself being shipped away from her family's estate in the country and brought to the palace, where her soon to be wife waited.

The wife that now stood on the steps of the palace.

The driver gave her a sympathetic look at she climbed out of the car, but she ignored it. There was no room for pity now. She had to be strong and tall and free from emotion. It was well known that the Winchester line had gifts of Empathy, and even better known was the fact that the King was a deadly manipulator. Empathy wasn't pure magic, more like a useful extra sense, but it was dangerous, and she couldn't afford to let her fiancé know how deeply unhappy she was. She was a gift to the King in order to keep the treaties alive, and it would reflect poorly on her family if it was made known that the new Princess was miserable and angry with her king. She had agreed to this, nodded in all the right places and signed all the papers, but it was one thing to look at paper and another to move to an entirely new country in the middle of the night.

It wasn't the king on the steps, but rather the regent currently running the country. The King had become a recluse, from what she understood. Samuel Winchester, second in line to the throne after Benjamin, and one of the tallest men she'd ever seen, looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. The girl beside him clearly felt the same way, scowling as Claire approached. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she'd clearly been shoved into an uncomfortable green dress that looked all wrong on her. It was far too tight for the girl's style, it was obvious, and Claire felt a pang of sympathy. She was in simple clothes, a plain white Oxford that was boxy on her frame, and a black pleated skirt. The thin black bow at her neck itched, but she didn't touch it. Her shoes were flat loafers, her hair hung straight and blonde.

She was Jimmy Novak's daughter, but she had all of Amelia's looks.

"Welcome to Huntington Palace," Samuel said quietly as people in the convoy began unloading her things. "Lady Claire Novak, this is Her Highness Kirstiana Alisa Samantha Winchester, third in line to the throne."

Claire bowed. She didn't curtsy, didn't say anything, too scared that if she opened her mouth she was going to start crying.

"Hi," Kirstiana said flatly. "Stop bowing. If I'm going to be stuck with you for the rest of my life, there's no point."

Tears stung Claire's eyes, but she blinked them away and straightened up, determined to keep her face expressionless as possible. She felt awful, to say the least, but she kept herself from showing it. Sam looked at her with tired, pained eyes, and led them up into the palace.

It was cool and dark inside, unnervingly quiet. A few servants in the livery of the country, green and gold, were walking around with things like towels and tea sets. They were all obviously armed, their guns bulging to the side of their pants. Claire's skin crawled when the doors shut with a heavy thud, and her lips trembled before she got herself back under control. The long hall ended at a staircase that branched in three different directions, but Samuel turned them to the left and pushed a panel on the wall. The wall slid apart to reveal an elevator, comfortably plush but with four cameras in it. Claire was silent as she stepped in after Kirstiana, who looked murderous. The doors closed soundlessly, and they began to ascend up to the fourth floor. There were six in all, according to the buttons, but the sixth required a key card and what looked like a retinal scan.

"Until you're married, you'll live in the garden suite," Samuel said, his eyes on the flashing numbers. "I understand that your home is a nature preserve?"

"Yes," she said softly, the first word she'd said since leaving her parents. Jimmy lived away from them in the city most of the year, so they were allowed a little more freedom in their choice of home than they would have if he'd lived with them. "It's called The Haven."

Kirstiana just shook her head and looked away, her face dark. The elevator stopped, and Samuel led them out into the hallway. This one was short, and only had three doors. "This is one of the shorter sections of the castle. The various rulers just added on however they wanted, so it doesn't really match up. You'll get the hang of it, though."

The _you'll be here a while_ hung silent in the air. Samuel shook himself and took them to the door on the end. Unlocking it with an old and very complicated looking key, he pushed open the door. The room faced to the south, so sunlight was just starting to sneak inside. Claire took a hesitant step in, and Samuel smiled encouragingly. "Come on, let me show you around."

The room was gorgeous. Directly under the exposed beams of the roof, it was spacious and comfortable. Just inside the door was a half wall with a trunk, an ancient coat tree, and a slim but beautiful painting on the wall. Beyond was another matter. Down two shallow steps was the living area. Large, plush grey and green couches were artfully arranged, Persian rugs decorated the floors, and the wood and stone walls bore several beautiful paintings from different periods. There were two sets of French doors set in the wall across from it all, and one wall was made entirely of glass. It did have doors set in it as well, and led out onto a balcony. Samuel led her over to the door on the left, opening it to reveal a massive, beautiful bathroom. With a steam shower, a Jacuzzi, and several beautiful plants inside it, the place was comfortable and relaxed. The next room, however, was her favorite.

Samuel pushed open the doors and she gasped. The room had just a few things in it- a large bed with a canopy and billowy white curtains, a huge Persian rug, a dresser and closet, a plasma screen TV, a bedside table and a curved, comfortable chair…But it was the walls of the room that had her stunned. She was going to live in a conservatory. A fourth of the room was curved glass and opened out into a conservatory with huge flowering plants. The balcony likely wrapped around to it, and she walked forward, entranced. Samuel was smiling, and Kirstiana watching grudgingly, as she opened the doors and stepped out into it.

The heat was tremendous, a pleasure on her skin, and she sighed in contentment as the scents of flowers covered her and filtered into her lungs. The tension that had been bound up in her shoulders slid away as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"So, I guess you like it?" Samuel hazarded from the door, and she turned to him, her smile a little delirious. All the plant life was pulling power back into her veins, shoring up the reserves of energy she'd depleted while in the car ride.

"Oh, yes," she breathed, reaching out to touch one huge leaf of a philodendron. It shivered under her hand and stretched up, wrapping around her arm. Samuel's eyes went wide.

"Is that…normal?" he asked carefully.

"All of my family has an affinity for some sort of power," she said, stroking the leaf. "My father and uncle are able to communicate through radio waves, and use them as a weapon. My abilities manifested with plants. My grandfather was a plant speaker too."

"I see," Samuel said, fascinated as the philodendron carefully let her go. "Does your mother have gifts?"

"She can move things with her mind," Claire said, nodding. "Only small things, though, like papers and salt and pepper shakers. She couldn't lift even that." She nodded at a small potted flower.

"Interesting," Samuel said, thoughtful. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself. "They'll be bringing your luggage up soon. I suggest you try and get some rest. You have a busy day ahead of you, and not in the fun kind. Dean will probably want to meet you, but I don't know if I can coax him out of his rooms. He may want you to go to him. While he's in mourning, he's not supposed to be out and about very often."

Her skin crawled at the thought of having to go and talk to the man who'd ripped her away from her life, but she nodded obediently. "If the King commands me to, I will go."

Samuel looked at her sadly, a strand of hair falling from behind his ears. "I know," he said softly, and Claire realized that maybe she wasn't the only one upset by the way she'd been taken from her home and family. It was well known that Regent Samuel had been forced to travel with the late King John on plenty of trips that took him far from home, and it was also well known that Samuel had loathed every minute that he was forced to spend away from the kingdom.

Samuel nodded to her, and headed back towards the door. Kirstiana was still standing there, glaring at her.

"Let's get one thing straight," Kirstiana said flatly. "I don't want to get married. I don't want to get married to you. I don't want to marry a woman. I am in love with someone else. This is a marriage of convenience and is only happening because my dad is the law, and I don't want to get shipped off to the military. Got it?"

"Got it," Claire said flatly. "I didn't come here expecting to find love. All I ask is that you don't beat me, and that you not have sex with your lover while I'm also in the bed."

"What makes you think that we're ever going to share a bed?" Kirstiana asked scornfully, and walked away. The door to the bedroom slammed behind her, and Claire looked around sadly at all the plants. The philodendron reached back out, and she gratefully stroked over its leaves. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek, and she sank to the floor, letting the plants press their leaves to her as she finally started to sob.

"She's here," Sam said quietly when he walked into Dean's rooms. His brother was sitting at the tall square table that was just before the doors out to his balcony, looking like hell. He had four day scruff, and an open bottle of whiskey and a tumbler sat in front of him. Thankfully there were no broken plates on the floor today, as he was barefoot and dressed only in his sweatpants. They were black, as was proper, but it was unnerving to see him so uncovered after he'd spent the last year and a half in full black. "Dean?"

"Heard you the first time."

The man was staring at his hands, his eyes dull and listless. Sam reached out and gently pulled him into a hug against his chest, not caring that he was unresponsive. Dean was a wreck, and it was killing them both. Most days he was fine, but the last week had done him in.

"You should be resting," Sam said gently when he let him go. "Get over that flu you had, take your mind off of things. It won't do you any good to mope around. It's been a year and a half, and it's not like there was any love lost between you two."

Dean shook his head, mouth a stubborn line. "I don't care. She's…" his voice cracked and broke, and Sam winced. "She was the only person who'd be honest with me. And, fuck, it's my anniversary. I'm allowed to be a goddamn mess, my wife is dead."

"So you think marrying Claire to Krissy is going to help that?" Sam asked skeptically. "Dean, Krissy told me that she likes the idea of being a widower. Said it'd give you two something to bond over. This isn't the right way to go about things. You should let her choose how she wants to do this, not force her into a loveless marriage."

"I was in a loveless marriage," Dean said bitterly, going for the whiskey. Sam snatched it out of his reach.

"You fell in love with the children, though," he snapped. "Don't try to deny it. Don't you dare. You may not have loved Lisa, not truly, but you love the children she gave you. At least you had that in common. Krissy and Claire? They have nothing, except for the fact that they were thrown together by two men who wanted to make sure the UN saw that nontraditional countries could still work. You wanted pawns, and you got them."

Dean's lips drew back in a furious snarl, and Sam narrowed his eyes. "Come on," he taunted. "Give it your best shot. See how good you can do with all that whiskey in your system, I'm sure you're one hell of a fighter right now."

Dean made as if to lunge, only to slump back, his arm hitting the table with an ugly thud. Sam relaxed, taking the bottle into the small kitchen Dean had insisted on having put in. He put it in the cabinet, sighing as he closed the door. Turning back, he watched his brother slump down, tears glittering on his eyelashes.

"Dean, you can't keep doing this," he said softly, walking over and helping his brother up. "King or not, this needs to stop. They deserve happiness, both of them, and you need to stop trying to convince yourself that putting others through the same thing you went through will be healthy."

Dean just looked at the floor, not saying a word as Sam helped him to bed and tucked him in. His heart ached as he did, watching his once strong and vibrant brother curl up tight, clutching a pillow. Dean's sadness was slowly killing him, the drinking destroying him with the slow, patient death only alcoholism could give, and it was starting to destroy Sam too. He wasn't fit to rule a kingdom, let alone the last remaining true monarchy in the world. Their country was small but powerful, and had remained under the control of the Winchester line since 1645. The Azazel Debacle nearly destroyed them all, and almost had a six year old Sam on the throne as the apparently foretold "Boy King". Sam had learned then that he would never be trusted to rule. Dean was both loved and pitied, the classic tragic king soldiering on, but he was a good leader and well trusted. Sam wanted his brother back on the throne and away from the bottle with the kind of desperate hope of a man at the end of his rope.

"Sleep tight," he whispered, ruffling his brother's hair gently before going to close the door and leave the suite. His heart ached at the thought of his brother destroying himself, but he didn't know what to do. It was all too confusing, and it wasn't like he could force him into rehab. Dean was the king for fuck's sake. He could just walk right out.

He ran into Ben a few hours later on his way to breakfast. The boy looked tired and upset, and all but threw himself into his uncle's arms. Sam hugged him tight, rocking him back and forth. Ben was newly married, on the cusp of real adulthood, and in a little over a year would be required to take the reins from Sam unless he abdicated. Sam desperately hoped he would. Ben was a good leader, but he didn't have enough of Dean's wily charm, enthusiasm, and ability to make snap judgments. He would be horrible on the throne, not much better than Sam.

"How is he?" Ben asked when he finally pulled back. He was clearly worried, his eyes anxious.

"Not great," Sam admitted. "He's not doing so well."

"And the girl? Is she here?"

Sam nodded, sighing. "Unfortunately. Krissy really doesn't like her."

"Can't say I'm shocked," Ben deadpanned. He sounded so much like Dean for a moment that Sam's heart clenched. "She's got a huge crush on that guard. What's his name, Aidan?"

"That sounds right," Sam agreed, turning and walking with Ben towards the breakfast room. The palace was largely deserted, just guards and maids most of the time. There were a few visiting dignitaries in various parts, but they were hardly of much importance. The palace was mostly used for housing the royalty these days, and was close enough to the capitol that it wasn't a problem going back and forth. Sam was expected in the Hall of Justice at 12, and could leave from the palace at 11:30 and make it on time with ease.

Krissy, who was dressed in her normal clothes, flopped down in her chair in the breakfast room. It was small and cheery, with yellow walls and white trim, and had once been a small sitting room. After Dean got tired of eating in the large, ostentatious dining room, it had been converted, and was now one of Sam's favorite rooms. Emma, her hair now chopped short and her stomach starting to plump up from the baby starting to grow inside her, was glaring intently at the eggs and bacon that had been arranged into a smiley face on her plate.

"If you stab it, you'll feel better," Ben said, amused. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, his touch easy and affectionate enough to soothe her. The hackles went down, and she began viciously poking at the eggs. Soon there was a bit of a smile on her face, and Ben looked pleased. The two of them worked well together, and Ben had become a melted, happy puppy around his wife now that she carried their child. He had recently taken off his mourning Blacks, just as Krissy and Sam had, but in deference to the customs that demanded the head of house wear black for a full three years of proper mourning, wore a thick black choker at all times. This particular morning, he was itching at it, apparently annoyed by the confinement.

"So, is she cute?" Emma asked after eating a bit of the bacon. "Cute helps."

"I don't want to talk about it," Krissy said frostily.

"Yes you do," Sam and Ben both intoned, making the girls roll their eyes. Sam's Empathy was incredibly strong, strong enough that if he needed to he could influence someone just by touching them and projecting his own emotions. Ben couldn't project at all, but his sensing was off the charts. It was actually very good that he'd married Emma, who was apparently just close enough to being a psychopath that her emotions were dulled, making it easier for him to concentrate. The royal family, when hearing this little fact, had all exchanged slightly nervous glances.

" _Fine_ ," Krissy growled, stabbing her food. "She's cute. In a straight laced 'poor little me' kind of way. She looks less than useless, even if she can talk to plants or whatever it is she does. I don't like her. I don't want to marry her."

"Should've gotten married quick," Ben said, with a bit of a smile. Emma just elbowed him, making him grin.

"I don't want to get married," Krissy growled. "I'm barely 19, I haven't even been to Paris yet. Dad promised he'd take me when I was 20, and I don't want to go to Paris and have to deal with a _wife_ too. She's dull, and boring, and actually not that pretty. Like, I don't think I want to look at her my whole life."

Sam sensed the hurt and pain rolling off of her in waves. "You could take a mistress," he reminded her. "You do outrank her, she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. And you aren't obligated to live together, though Dean will encourage it without a doubt. This Aidan kid you like-"

_"Uncle!"_

Sam continued, not even a little phased by her horrified blush. "You could easily take him on as your bodyguard, and if you were something more no one would care. God knows it's not the first time something like this has happened. King John regularly took mistresses after the Queen's death, after all. And some of them were even female."

Krissy looked startled at the revelation, but Ben had clearly heard the story before. "Remember," her brother said, "I nearly married her, and would've kept Emma as a mistress. Even if you are stuck in a loveless marriage, there's no reason you can't be happy. Hell, mistresses are actually expected. And they can be valuable allies, provided you don't think that your wife would slaughter them."

"I don't know about her," Krissy admitted. "She could be the murderous type. She certainly looks innocent enough for it."

The doors opened, and everyone looked over in surprise to see Dean being led in by his bodyguard, a short, stocky man named Benny. Everyone watched, shocked into silence as he was led the table and forced into a seat.

He was dressed in all black, as was proper. For the first three years after the death of a loved one, people were required to wear no color whatsoever, in order to properly show how they were grieving and bearing the loss. Dean, as the King, was required to go veiled as well, but he obeyed the spirit, rather than the letter of the law when with his family. He had been draped with thin lace, rather than the black muslin that he had to wear out in public.

"You know," Sam said a little frostily, "I could have sworn that I just put him to bed."

"Y'did," Benny said. "And then he started bitching about how sad he was that he didn't have bacon and ordered me to bring him to some."

Dean promptly stole the plate of bacon.

Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. It was going to be a long day.

Claire looked around nervously as she slipped cautiously out of the door, and checked her watch. It was 12, so everything in the palace should be bustling. The hallway outside her door was quiet, but she found her way to the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. If she was stuck living here, she may as well explore. No one, after all, had said she couldn't.

The elevator let her out back on the ground floor, and she cautiously stuck her head out. There were only a few footmen in white Oxford shirts and black slacks arguing at the end of the hall near the huge main doors, so she slipped away, into the rest of the castle. A preliminary exploration of a few open rooms found an elaborate sitting room decorated in the style of the old French palace of Versailles with men in suits talking on cell phones and taking notes on clipboards, and then another with massive mirrors all over it and some truly ugly paintings on the ceiling. She found another room that was apparently a ballet studio, as it had plenty of young boys and girls doing stretches and running through positions. She more or less bolted when the strict-looking teacher saw her and frowned.

Claire wandered around, sticking her head into various rooms as she went. Some were large, some were small, most were ostentatious, but some were small and cozy, completely modern. Eventually, she found the library, which seemed to take up most of the East wing with how huge it was. It was surprisingly busy, with people of various shapes, sizes, and colors lounging around in fat, overstuffed chairs reading, or chatting with the librarians who were walking around with long, sleeveless, flowing green robes. Figuring that it was probably safe to be there, she slipped inside and vanished into the stacks.

Books of every kind covered the shelves, beautiful and richly decorated. She was awed by the supple leathers, the rich colors, and the warm scent that they had. Her fingers brushed over them, enchanted, and then she turned a corner and ran smack into a man. Books scattered everywhere.

"Oh! Oh, god, I'm so sorry," she apologized frantically, bending down to pick them up. "I didn't realize anyone was there."

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

She looked up, and noticed that he wore all black. Black shirt, black pants, black socks and shoes…and a veil. There was a cap fitted to his head, and just his eyes were showing, the veil draping down to about his collarbone. Was he a priest or something?

"Um."

"You must be Claire," he said smoothly, beautiful green eyes boring into her. "You're much taller than I expected."

Claire frowned, slowly standing up with the books. "How do you know my name?"

The eyes crinkled, giving the impression of a smile, and he took the books from her. His hands were large and deft, with thick calluses. "You'll figure it out soon enough, don't worry. I hear you like plants?"

"Yes," she said warily, eyeing him.

"The horticulture section is just two rows down on your right," the man said, nodding at the shelves. The veil fluttered a little as he did, revealing a hint of a strong jawline. "And the gardens can be accessed if you walk clear to the end of those rows. There's a little door, and a keypad. The number is 205312. Understood?"

"205312," she repeated, startled. "Seriously, how do you know all this?"

"See you at dinner," was all the man said, and walked away down the stacks.

She stared at him, and then shrugged. She'd learn about him eventually. Turning down the rows, she did as he suggested.

"Ms. Claire Novak," the butler announced when the doors were opened to the dining room. Claire stepped through, her face carefully blank. Bad enough that she'd been shoved into the hideous blue green gown that had been left for her, but now she had to deal with a formal dinner while she met the rest of the royals, the first as Kirstiana's fiancé. It was customary for a first meeting to be stiff and serious, a sort of test of manners for the new potential. The dress was from a designer local to the area that had been well sought after at the Milan Fashion Week, and it was all wrong for her. It fell too short, there was a peplum ruffle, and the neck was high and covered in lace that splayed out around her face like a ruff. Her hair had been carefully pinned up into a popular style, one based on a design from the Japanese Edo period according to the stylist. It had been pulled up into a hollow round curl on top. Her fingers had been left unadorned, thankfully, but she dripped with heavy golden necklaces.

She looked like an idiot.

"Welcome," Samuel said as she stepped inside, her steps uncomfortably short in the tight dress. She couldn't quite figure out how she was going to sit.

"My god, what did they put you in?"

Claire's eyes widened as she took in the table. At the very end, the man in all black sat, this time with his veil made of lace.

"You've got to be kidding me," she blurted out, looking at him in horror. "YOU?!"

Dean Henry Jonathan Winchester, King of the Land, last true monarch of Europe, grinned. "Hi, Claire. How's it going?"

She looked at him for a long moment, absolutely speechless, before saying bluntly, "You, sir, are a bad man."

Dean burst out laughing, and waved her to the table. The seat at his left was open, and she carefully sat in it. Across from her was Sam, to her left was Kirstiana, and on Sam's right was an unknown woman, likely Benjamin's wife. Benjamin himself sat across from Dean, looking thoroughly amused by the whole affair. Kirstiana was refusing to look up from her plate. For a palace, it looked like pretty standard fare. Dean had the mother of all cheeseburgers on his plate, Sam had salad, Kirstiana had chicken soup, and Emma and Benjamin both had a massive plate of potatoes and gravy. Granted, Emma's also had what appeared to be a straight up ginger root, but she was pregnant. It was forgivable.

"So, you two have met?" Samuel said cautiously, clearly surprised.

"I ran into him in the library today," Claire explained. "Quite literally."

"It was funny," Dean laughed, picking up his burger. Apparently the dinner wasn't going to be as formal as she'd been told. That was a relief. "Did you go out and look at the gardens?"

"I did," she said enthusiastically. "They're beautiful, and so _vibrant_. You have a lot of plants that I didn't expect to see here."

"I thought you might like them," Dean said approvingly. "What would you like for dinner? We've got a pretty good array going on right now."

"Um." She looked up at the page standing beside her. "What do you like?"

There was a sudden silence, and the page's eyes widened for a moment before he stammered out, "Um, I-I like the burgers that the chef makes. Sh-she's kind of perfected them."

"I'll go with that then," she said, smiling as reassuringly as possible. "No mayonnaise or mustard though, please."

"Of course, my lady," the page said, bowing as he backed away. She blinked in surprise at the careful bowing, and looked back at the table.

"I did something wrong, didn't I?" Claire said dryly.

Samuel nodded, wincing. "A little bit."

"But," Dean interjected, raising his wine glass, "Not in a way that anyone should mind. The palace runs on antiquated ideas of nobility and who can talk to whom, and honestly, it's beyond stupid. As Krissy's fiancé, you've basically been elevated to the status of a Duchess, and Duchesses typically don't talk to page boys. They're snobby brats that way."

"Dean," Samuel admonished sharply.

"Honesty hurts, Sammy," Dean said cheerily, making Claire duck her head to hide her smile. Just being around the laid back king was helping ease some of her anxiety. Kirstiana may not like her, but at least the King thought she was worth keeping around. "Duchess Dawn Abba is an absolute nightmare. You know, she's tried to have me poisoned four times now. The last one was at my late wife's funeral, which was just bad taste if you ask me. I mean, can't a man properly grieve for a day without having to worry about accidentally murdering himself?"

"Would it be accidental manslaughter if you lifted your own cup, not knowing?" Claire mused.

Dean paused, considering. "Sammy?"

Samuel seemed lost in thought as well. "Perhaps."

The page rushed back up with a burger and fries, as well as a bowl of salad. "My lady," he said a little anxiously, setting them down in front of her.

"Thank you," she said, smiling up at him. "I'm very grateful."

The page blushed bright red, mumbling something incoherent before backing up, flustered. Dean chuckled into his wine glass, clearly amused. Kirstiana watched them with narrowed eyes, but said nothing, digging into her food as well.

The dinner passed quickly enough, with everyone but Kirstiana chatting about the differences between Claire's country and their own, and soon it was time for people to leave. Kirstiana bolted as soon as dinner was done, but the rest of them simply moved to one of the living rooms.

"I'm sorry Krissy isn't making more of an attempt to get to know you," Dean said quietly as he walked with Claire. He'd had a good deal to drink, and even though the others had been clearly cautious about it, let Claire walk with him at a more sedate pace as they retired to another room. "The very least she could do would be at least to be on good terms before she starts taking mistresses."

"Is that normal?" Claire asked quietly, watching as Sam bickered with Emma about something and Benjamin laughed. "Taking mistresses?"

"For a loveless marriage? Yes," Dean nodded, the lace veil fluttering a little. "I'm King, so in theory I could have had anyone I chose, but… Lisa was enough. She and I were good together, and we loved each other enough to keep from sleeping around, even when it would have been a lot more convenient. We kept each other sated, and she had plenty of friends to give her love to. I poured it into my family, instead. Not to say that she didn't, because my God, I don't know if even I love Ben as much as she did, but it wasn't a happy marriage. If we'd taken mistresses, it would have been better."

"Lisa was gay?" Claire asked, startled.

"What? Oh, no. Mistress is used as a catch-all term here," Dean explained. "She would have taken a male mistress."

Claire nodded, looking over at Sam, as she'd been instructed to call him. "So…does Sam have a mistress?"

"Not anymore," Dean said, shaking his head. "He does have a wife, but she stays in the city, mostly. She hates it here. She likes her job, and it's in the city, so they don't see each other a lot. His old mistress, Ruby, was one of the minor guards."

"It's common for people to have mistresses, then?" Claire asked, just to make sure. Dean nodded, linking their arms.

"Most people do. It's something of a cultural norm, honestly."

There was a shout of "You two coming or not?" from the study, and Claire couldn't help but smile. It felt like home again.

"I know that it's hard," Dean said suddenly, holding her arm. "Coming here, not knowing anybody, expected to marry someone you've only just barely met. But give it time. Things will get better, I promise. And Krissy won't always be so hard to deal with. She'll adapt."

Claire looked up at him, and in a moment of sheer relief, hugged him tight. Dean hesitated, but hugged her back. He was solid and warm, and muscled much like her uncle Castiel was, and a wave of comfort washed over her. Some of the sadness eased from her, and when she let go she was smiling. Dean smiled too, and together they walked into the study.

oOo

Kirstiana was not the most forthcoming of fiancés, Claire realized. It was only after a knock down, drag out fight with Dean that half the palace heard that she finally agreed to go and talk with Claire, and that conversation lasted all of fifteen minutes, with the topic of conversation being the weather, before the girl bolted. Dean's patience with her reluctance was waning fast, and there was a wedding approaching. Granted, it was in nearly a year, but a year wasn't that much time. In fact, it was only 341 days until she was to be married, and already the press had been trying to get onto Palace grounds. They'd had to face the wrath of Dean and Sam, though, and that had driven them back. Claire had kept up on the news, and wasn't shocked by what they were saying.

 _Revolutionary's Daughter Forced to Marry Princess! The Scandal!!!_ had been an interesting piece, complete with an interview that Claire had never given. She'd had the dubious pleasure of making a statement about it, as well as answering questions that the press had posed for her. It wasn't pretty.

"Do you believe that this is a loss of your agency?"

"For a daughter of a man who fought for freedom, you don't seem to be fighting for yours. What's the truth about James Novak?"

"Will the King force you into the same horrible, concealing clothes he wears?"

That one had got her going. Now, half the world was educated on the mourning traditions of the country, and the press had received an absolutely scathing lecture on learning the culture of their host country before they arrived. Claire Novak did not tolerate sloppy journalism and made that point firmly. The press also understood now, very clearly, that Claire had been the one to agree on keeping the betrothal, not her parents. Dean's kingdom was powerful, and their little country could use all the help they could get. She wasn't blind to politics, and made it clear that although Dean was viewed as a tyrant by most of the world, she supported him wholeheartedly.

"At least here, in this country, people can look to a few men and women of the ruling elite and definitely blame them," she had said, causing a stir. "They know who the cause of the problem is, and they know what they have to do to change it. There's no hiding, backstabbing parliament to delay motions, when the King can sign them into law in seconds. Regent Samuel Winchester knows this as well, and between the two of them, they are competent leaders. I trust them."

Dean had been extremely happy when she got home that day, positively smug. Claire called him a pushover, and had to run to keep him from tickling her. She'd found something of a kindred spirit with him, and half wondered sometimes if it was because they were both confined by their choices, the people they were made to marry, and the careful concealing of their real loves, gardening and freedom. Dean was bound to three years of celibacy and mourning, completely hiding his face from the world. She wore her clothes big and boxy, hiding the soft, tiny curves underneath. They were both very lonely.

But they had family. Claire was starting to discover how nice it was to have an open, laid back family. Her own was small and kept sheltered away, safe from enemies. Here, people relished an attack, happy to beat them into the ground.

oOo

"I don't like her," Krissy muttered as she traced her fingers over Aidan's chest. It was late at night, long after his watch, and they'd tumbled happily into bed together for a movie and some cuddling. Aidan grunted, having heard this particular spiel before. "She's weird and too polite and she can talk to plants."

"You've mentioned," he yawned, shutting off the TV and tossing the remote onto the beside table.

"I mean, why can't I just marry you?" she said petulantly. "Make this whole thing go away."

"Because your daddy would full on castrate me in front of the whole court, and I like my balls," Aidan replied, hiding a snort of laughter. "Look, Krissy, just marry her. Everybody expects you to take a mistress, just take me. She'll find someone nice who'll fuck her well, and I'll be off to the side, fucking you well."

"I don't want to take a mistress," Krissy grumbled. "It's a hassle."

"Krissy, you could fuckin' _live_ with me and no one would give a shit," Aidan snorted. "That wife of yours'll be fine on her own, she'll find someone by herself. Cute little thing like that, she'll be scooped up by some hunk with enough muscle to recarve the Grand Canyon in no time."

Krissy giggled at the image and settled down at his side, apparently convinced now that it wasn't the end of the world.

"Maybe I could make you part of the ceremony," she said thoughtfully. "That'd be nice, have you there. It'd be like I was actually marrying you, not her."

Aidan laughed. "Or you could just marry her and get it over with. Come on, Krissy, you're thinking way too hard about all this shit."

"Do you think that I should, like…try to get to know her?" Krissy asked, settling back into the bed. "Really get to know her? I mean, then I might at least have blackmail material."

"You're a dangerous woman, Kirstiana Winchester," Aidan muttered.

oOo

Of the many things that Sam Winchester hated doing, attending parties was right up there with ordering executions. It had been easier when Dean was around to swoop in and steal him away from little old noble ladies who wanted to gossip about the good old days, but Dean wasn't allowed to come to things like this while in mourning. Sam was allowed to, but only if he wore at least some black.

He fidgeted in his silks as Emma and Benjamin danced, Krissy sitting with perfect poise on the throne just below his with what Dean called her 'princess mask' on. She was completely expressionless, looking over the crowd with an attitude of complete disinterest. She'd been wrangled into a nice outfit for the evening, complimenting Claire beautifully, he noted with a bit of smug satisfaction. The tailor who'd come to fit them all had seen the way they moved and dressed them in things that neither could complain about.

Claire was ethereal, her long blonde hair down with a delicate steel circlet dripping with sapphires on her head. Her dress was off the shoulder, floating sheer silk with delicate painted water lilies and hemmed with a thick white satin band that made every step rustle and sigh. The shoulder piece was a work of art, though, even the whole way around and delicately embroidered with plants of all kinds. She'd managed to escape having to wear heels, which was quite a feat given that _Sam_ was in heels, and serenely floated around, talking with foreign ministers as she sipped at her water.

Krissy was another matter. Her hair was up, pulled into a sleek, no nonsense pony tail, and where Claire's circlet was fragile, hers looked like she'd plucked it from the head of a marauding Viking. It had once belonged to Deanna Campbell, and was spiked, with rubies, diamonds, and fire opals set into it. Her dress was equally dramatic, a shifting fabric that was red one moment, orange the next. Tight to her body, it fell to the knees in the front before sweeping dramatically back to a long train. Sleeveless, strapless, and utterly dazzling, it was completely unadorned. The two were as different as night and day, and utterly striking together.

Sam rose, and Krissy let out a tiny groan, standing as well. She hadn't gotten away without heels, and these ones were killers, jet black and designed to look like flames. Sam grinned at her, offering her his arm, and with the utmost dignity she took it.

The party was in full swing, and various nobles bowed as they swept across the floor. Sam had taken advantage of the occasion to wear his most intimidating party gear. Armani had nothing on their tailors, and he knew that as he stalked through the crowds in four inch heels, his hair loose and his suit coat long and sleek enough to trail on the floor like an inky black tail behind him, he looked like a threat.

The country had never really taken to Western suits like the rest of the world. Sam was well aware that he'd inspired a few villainous costumes with his suits, but hey, he was being culturally appropriate. If culturally appropriate also happened to be high necked, with fanned out spines at his neck and tight sleeves with fitted tops and trailing tails, what could he do but represent his country the best way he knew how? And if leather pants were what the people wanted, leather pants he would give them. Tight, leaving little to the imagination, leather pants.

He looked like a dark lord and he _loved_ it.

"Uncle, you're grinning maniacally," Krissy said mildly. "Maybe dial down on the villain thing?"

Sam coughed, and did his best. Krissy's lips twitched, and they sailed over to where Claire was chatting with the Counselor for foreign affairs.

"- why we don't allow trade with Dubai, you see, my father and the Parliament take an issue on slavery," she was saying. "It's a matter of ethics."

The Foreign Affairs counselor looked blown away. "I had no idea. I'll have to speak with the other counselors about this."

Claire smiled sweetly at him, the epitome of innocence. "I'm so glad." She inclined her head gracefully, and excused herself to go over to them. Sam nodded approvingly.

"Nicely done."

Claire's smile was strained. "That was the most stressful conversation of my life," she gritted out, fanning herself with a hand. "He's scary."

"He has to be, he's the Foreign Affair's guy," Krissy said, grinning at her. "Good job with getting rid of him, he can talk your ear off."

Claire looked unbelievably thrilled that Krissy was smiling at her. "Thank you," she said, clearly trying not to beam too widely. "It was kind of difficult at first."

"You look nice, by the way," Sam said, indicating the dress. "I like it."

"You too," Claire said, blushing brightly. "Um."

Sam just laughed. "Don't worry," he said in an undertone. "The tabloids eat this up. People underestimate how much knowledge you have of a legal system if you're wearing something that makes them wonder how fast they can get you in bed. I do it on purpose."

Claire stared at him, awed. "Are you telling me that you win your cases with _sex appeal_?"

"Don't knock it, it works wonders," Sam said smugly, and Krissy laughed.

Claire was about to say something else when a page came up with a glass full of red liquid. "A gift," he said nervously, showing her the flute. "It's not alcoholic, w-we were informed you don't drink. It's just from the kitchens, made for you. The cellars were trying something for the wedding and since this is the first big party you've been too, they asked me to bring you the glass to celebrate the occasion. They say it's cranberries and raspberries and some other things. Would you care to try it, my lady?"

"How sweet," Claire said, clearly taken as Sam made an approving noise. Krissy watched curiously as she swirled it slightly. "The color is beautiful, almost burgundy. I hate to drink it, it's so beautiful." She looked at Krissy. "Promise you'll try it after I've had a bit?"

"Fine," Krissy said, smiling, and Claire drank about half, savoring it. They all watched, and a few people had gathered to listen in. The little crowd watched as she swallowed and considered.

"The taste is interesting," she pronounced. "Very rich and warm. I think there might be honey in it."

She staggered a little, and Krissy caught her, worried. "Claire?"

Claire smiled at her, and Sam noticed how wide her pupils had dilated. "I'm sure it's nothing."

And that was when she fell.

The rest of it was something of a blur. The page vanished with the glass, the guards rushing through the crowds. Sam vaguely remembered doing compression's, trying to keep her heart moving as she lay still. At some point medics came, and Dean burst in wearing nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt, practically naked and screaming at people. He could recall Krissy demanding something of the guards, following the medics in a rush, her beautiful, fiery skirts gathered up and her shoes tossed off. Ben and Emma were trying to help him up, and then somehow he was at the hospital, Dean at his bedside in mourning gear.

"What?" he asked woozily.

"Coordinated hit," Dean said, his voice hoarse. "They got Claire with arsenic in the drink. Someone got you with a needle when Krissy was leaving with Claire in the rush of people. You barely got enough of a dose to knock you out, I think it was mostly to muddle you."

"What they get me with?" he slurred, bleary.

"Nightshade. Belladonna, specifically. Tiny, tiny dose of it." Dean's veil fluttered as he sighed. "It wasn't too bad, you've only been out maybe an hour."

"Oh, good," Sam said, smiling a little. "I'm go' back t'sleep, mmhmm?"

Dean chuckled, his eyes betraying his fear. "Yeah, Sammy. You go right ahead and sleep. But don't think we aren't going to have a talk about those pants."

Sam giggled, nestling back into the pillows. "So worth it."

oOo

Four days later, Claire woke up to the soft sounds of beeping, and the smell of antiseptic. Confused, she groggily stared at the ceiling. It looked like a hospital ceiling, with its holed tiles, and her hands scrambled a bit before they found purchase on a soft, comfortable blanket. She could vaguely hear people arguing somewhere, and slowly turned her head, blinking blearily. She was in a hospital, that was certain.

"I see you're awake."

Claire started at the warm, female voice, and looked up to see a smiling lady. A name tag read "Missouri". Claire smiled sleepily up at her, immediately reassure by her presence. "'Lo."

"Hello to you too, Miss Claire." Missouri looked over the machines she was hooked to. "You're a very lucky woman."

"Wha' happen'd?" Claire slurred, her eyes wide.

"You were poisoned, sweetie," Missouri said, lifting her arm to check the tubes there. "A heavy dose of Arsenic, which was probably the reason you survived." Claire made a confused sound, and Missouri chuckled. "The poisoner didn't do their homework. See, your country's water supply? Completely contaminated with Arsenic. You've got a built up immunity."

"So I've been poisoned my whole life?" Claire asked, rubbing her eyes.

"More or less. Small amounts, mind you, not that much." Missouri checked her over once more. "Now, I'm going to go deal with our beloved and bullheaded king, and then you can take visitors. There's someone here to surprise you."

Claire smiled sleepily and let her head fall back on her pillow. "M'kay."

After a nice long while where she was floating on the morphine, Claire roused to the sound of a gentle knock on the door. Once she managed to get her head up, she let out a squeak of surprise.

"Cas!"

Castiel Novak, while identical to his twin and Claire's father, was easily differentiated. He carried himself differently, for one thing, and his voice was slightly deeper. There was also the fact that he was in military fatigues, and looked a little bit like an angry cloud. Castiel was rarely given to showing a cheery, happy side of himself, not that Claire blamed him. While he and James had fought tirelessly for the freedom of their country, the war had taken a toll on his body and mind, leaving him with frequent nightmares, and painful back problems from the torture he endured. His face softened when he saw her, though, and he pulled her into a gentle hug once the bed had been pushed up so she was more sitting than laying.

"How's my girl?" he rumbled softly, and she buried her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of _home_.

"Been better," she mumbled, relieved that he was there. "M'happy you're here, uncle Cas."

He smiled, gently rubbing her back before letting her lay back down. "So. Poisoning."

"Poisoning," she agreed ruefully. "I know, I know. I should be better than this now."

"You really should," he agreed, and though he kept a straight face she could tell that he was smiling a little, with the way his eyes were crinkling at the edges. "This is the eighth assassination attempt, you would think that you'd be prepared."

"Yeah," she sighed, embarrassed. "I mean, come _on_. I should be able to tell at a glance when someone wants to do me under. Like they have a big, flashing sign over them."

Castiel did crack a smile at that, taking her hand. "Well, good news, at least. Your father's sent me as emissary for the wedding preparations. He'll come for the actual day, but I'm to take care of you in the process. Make sure nothing like this happens again. He and King Dean had a bit of a chat this morning about that."

"I bet that went well," she said dryly. "How loudly was he yelling?"

"Pretty loud," Castiel acknowledged, snorting a little. "You would think this was the first time you were nearly murdered."

"He does tend to get a little overexcited about things like this," she agreed, trying not to smile. Castiel shook his head, amused, and looked up sharply when there was a faint knock at the door. Claire looked up, and was surprised when she saw Kirstiana standing there with a vase stuffed full of flowers.

"Um, hi," the girl said awkwardly. "Can I come in?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed for a moment, but he stood up and stepped out, glaring at Kirstiana as he went. The girl looked a little spooked, Claire noticed with deep satisfaction. She barely knew her, and maybe now that she'd nearly been killed, Kirstiana would finally start making time for her. Castiel was scary on the best of days, and if he could scare her into coming and spending time with Claire, she'd take the threat and shake his hand.

Kirstiana stepped forward and awkwardly shoved the flowers at her. "I, uh. I remembered you liked flowers, so I went and got some from the garden to give to you. Aidan helped me cut them for you."

Claire looked at them. "…You brought me nightshade," she said, trying very hard not to laugh.

Kirstiana looked down at the flowers, confused. "What's that?"

"Deadly poison, Kirstiana," Claire said, keeping a perfectly straight face. "Deadly. Fucking. Poison."

Kirstiana paled, staring down at the plants. "…Well shit."

Claire couldn't help it. She burst out laughing, head falling back against the pillow as she giggled helplessly, the humor of it all too much. Kirstiana looked spooked, but then a slow smile came across her face. Claire patted the bed when the giggles had subsided, and Kirstiana sat, smiling ruefully.

"I swear I didn't mean to bring these in here to kill you," she said, setting them on the table. Claire giggled again.

"No, no, it's fine. That was just pretty hilarious." Claire straightened up, smiling at her. "Thank you for coming."

Kirstiana ducked her head, a slightly awkward smile on her face. "Look…I've been pretty shitty to you."

"No- "

"Yes, I really have," she insisted, looking up at Claire. "I haven't made any attempt to get to know you, and we're going to be married soon. If nothing else, you deserve someone who'll know your favorite color, and what to get you on your birthday. And at least knows what flowers you like. So I'd like to apologize for not making more of an attempt before. Hell, any attempt before."

Claire nodded, smiling a little. "Tell me something. Honestly."

"Sure," Kirstiana said, curious.

"Was there a moment of relief when I was poisoned?" She asked quietly. "Honestly."

Kirstiana looked at her for a long moment. "No," she said at last. "No, there wasn't. Afterwards, I thought there should have been. I mean, I could have been free, kinda. But there wasn't anything like that. I just felt this hole open up in my stomach, and all this fear. There wasn't any relief there."

Claire smiled a little. "Maybe there's hope for us yet."

"Yeah," Kirstiana said, taking her hand gently. "Maybe."

oOo

There was half a bottle of bourbon on the table when Castiel was finally let in to see Dean Winchester. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, and the guard just shook his head, closing the door to Dean's study behind Castiel. The boom it made was more than a little ominous, and he stepped forward cautiously. The room was rich in dark earth tones, and the curtains over the larger main window had been carelessly closed, letting light leak into the room. The desk was a mess, the chair beaten up, and stacks of books surrounded the room. A rather battered laptop was also sitting there.

The bourbon was glistening a little where the light hit it through the glass, and Castiel looked around the room, wondering where Dean was.

One of the bookshelves swung open, and Dean stepped out. He looked nothing like the man that he'd first seen years ago in the Capital just after the war had been won. This man seemed haggard and worn even though his face was hidden, his shoulders a little slouched, and his plain black clothes were hard on the eyes. His eyes, though… those were still beautiful. Castiel swallowed hard.

"Oh," Dean said, his voice flat. "It's you." The bourbon was scooped up, opened, and poured into a glass.

"Yes, me," Castiel said, shaking himself out of his reverie. "I'd like to know if there are any leads so far."

Dean sat down heavily behind the desk, his face inscrutable behind the veil. "Not as of yet. The cooks have all been vetted, the pages checked over. We're working on it."

The veil was tipped up, and the glass was nearly emptied. Castiel stared.

"Oh, stop," Dean snapped, eyes blazing. "I can feel your disgust from here. I'm an Empath, you idiot, stop projecting so much."

"I'd say I was sorry, but I can't quite bring myself to believe that I am," Castiel said coolly. "You're the King of this country, and here you are, drinking away your life. I'd heard that you were a recluse, but this…This is ridiculous. You waste away in your castle, losing yourself to the bottle when outside there are people who want your leadership, your guidance. How can you simply step away from them? They want their king, and yet you send a regent who no one trusts on the throne to care for them."

Dean very deliberately set his glass down. "I sincerely hope that you appreciate the effort it's taking not to blast you with every ounce of power I have."

"Your control is admirable," Castiel said, scathing. "I am so very impressed by how well you manage yourself." He straightened up, dripping with disdain. "Clearly I'll get nowhere here. Goodbye." And with that, he turned on his heel, and left the room, shutting the door hard behind him.

There was the faint sound of glass shattering after it was thrown at a wall, and he took a deep breath. It was time to hunt down the castle guards, and see what he could glean from them.

oOo

The day that everything changed, it was raining softly, and Claire was sprawled in bed, stark naked. About a week after the poisoning, she'd been cleared to return to the palace, and had been so happy to see her room she'd simply stripped down and flopped onto her bed. She'd stayed that way for the rest of the day, and now she was back to skin again. She'd opened the skylights in the conservatory, letting rain fall down to sprinkle over the plants. The whole place smelled fresh and clean, and she could feel any leftover tension she'd had being drained away by the plants and the rain. Her mind was filled with the quiet not-quite emotions of _rainrainrain_ and _lifelifelife_. Plants, without minds and thus unable to comprehend more complex things, were generally only calm, peaceful things whose 'emotions' ran towards being excited that it was morning, that it was raining, and sad that she was leaving them. They echoed her emotions, reacting to her with the simpleness of children. They were eager to listen to the best of their ability, and she loved them all the more for it.

There was a soft knock on the door, and she looked up, a little annoyed. The guard at her door hadn't been given permission to let anyone in. "Who is it?"

"It's Krissy."

She let out a huff of disapproval, climbing under the covers. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and she could see Kirstiana looking around cautiously before catching sight of her. The girl padded over after she'd closed and locked the door, and Claire looked at her expectantly.

"Are you going to lounge around in bed all day?" Kirstiana asked skeptically. "Because if you're not, Dad wants to go into town."

Claire shook her head. "I'm staying put," she said firmly. "I'm resting, I'm relaxing, and I don't want to move."

Kirstiana grinned. "You sound like you're trying not to pout when you put it like that," she said, clearly finding the situation funny. "You're so adorably stubborn."

"I am not adorable," Claire pouted, making Kirstiana laugh. The girl came and sat next to her, and Claire primly folded her arms over her chest.

"You really kind of are."

"I am not."

"Yeah, you are." Kirstiana looked her over. "Aaaand you're naked, aren't you?"

Claire blushed brightly, looking away. "So what if I am? It's my body, I'll do as I like with it."

"Hey, no complaints here," Kirstiana said with a shrug. "If you've got it, flaunt it." She settled back against the bed frame, and grinned at Claire. "You're a beautiful woman, and even though you hide behind all those boxy shirts and those weird floaty slacks, I know damn well that you're fine as hell."

Claire couldn't keep the blush off of her cheeks, and she scrunched down under the covers as Kirstiana laughed. She pouted up at her, and said defensively, "It's not like I'm all that pretty. You're the one who's got that on lock."

"Oh, you think so?" Kirstiana asked, amused. "That's cute, considering that I was one of the ugliest babies ever to live. Seriously, you should see the pictures. I'm pretty sure you'd run screaming."

Claire snorted, relaxing a little as Kirstiana made herself comfortable. It was a little weird, being naked with Kirstiana was fully dressed, but it didn't feel all that awkward. She actually felt safe and comfortable.

"You should call me Krissy," the girl said out of nowhere. "There's no real reason for you not to, right? Kirstiana's super formal, and nobody calls me that. It's old fashioned and ugly."

"I don't think it's ugly," Claire said, surprised. "I think it's pretty. But Krissy is a little easier on the tongue."

"Glad you agree," Krissy said, rolling over to look up at the rain on the conservatory roof with an easy smile. "Hey, did you ever have a nickname?"

Claire shook her head, rolling over so that they were laid out side by side. "Claire's a hard name to nickname, you know. All you get is longer, weirder versions." She rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling and feeling the tension in the room drain away. "Do you think Uncle Cas is getting along with Dean?"

"You mean do I think they're going to kill each other, or fall into bed," Krissy said dryly. "The two of them were eye fucking earlier. It's so weird. They just sit there and stare at each other and make everyone else feel uncomfortable. What's up with that, anyway?"

"I think they feel like they need to prove something," she said thoughtfully. "Like, I'm bigger and badder and tougher than you."

"I don't think it's working," Krissy said with a snort. "All they're doing is making the rest of us way uncomfortable."

Claire laughed, then looked up at her, startled. "Are we having a conversation? Like, a real conversation? One where we're polite to each other and everything and don't talk about weather?"

Krissy looked startled, but slowly began smiling. "You know, I think we are."

And something, some small piece, clicked into place.

oOo

Sam really couldn't say that when he'd been called to attend his King, this was what he was going to be doing. He looked over the table in the small living area, raising his eyebrows at the sheer number of bottles on the coffee table. They were all shapes and sizes- tall and black, short and green, round and tan. Dean was feverishly pacing, and looked up wildly.

"Oh, good. You're here."

"Yeah, I'm here," Sam said cautiously, looking over the display. "Dean, what's going on?"

"I need you to very quietly issue an edict," Dean said, still pacing like a man possessed. He wasn't veiled, but he was so riled up, Sam didn't dare bring it up unless his brother snapped. "I need you to forbid me from drinking."

Sam stared. "Are- you're serious. Um. Okay. Yes, I can do that. I mean, once, I'm not regent, the orders break, but-"

"Sam," Dean pleaded, looking over at him. Sam nodded, trying not to look too excited. Dean was actually _trying_ to get better.

Clearing his throat, he nodded to Dean, who sank to his knees with a sigh of relief. He grabbed a book to use in place of a sword, tapping the top of Dean's head with it.

"I, Samuel Winchester, Regent of the realm during these times, do order and command you, Dean Winchester, currently Grand Duke, under the law in regards to the regency, under the pain of- of letting your children come in and trash your record collection, not to drink and generally imbibe of any alcoholic beverage while under the regency of myself, and do bind you with my word and the law. This word is mine, none force my hand, and I charge you to honor and accept this edict under the laws set forth under our history, and the Kings and Queens before me."

Dean slumped down, clearly relieved, and let Sam help him into one of the plush chairs. "Thank you."

Benny appeared from a side room with a box, and promptly began filling it with the bottles. "The guard greatly appreciates your generous donation," he informed Dean, who flipped him off.

Sam took a seat on the couch beside Dean's chair, watching as Benny took away the first box and came back with another. "Dean…While I like that you've decided to stop drinking, I'd like to know what prompted this sudden change."

Dean actually looked embarrassed. "You know Castiel?"

"Yes, Dean, he's been sitting in counsel with me for the past few weeks," Sam said, doing his best not to roll his eyes. It was a hard fight. Dean was dodging the question the best way he knew how, deliberately dragging out the conversation. "I know him. Nice guy, little bit weird. Used to be a priest."

"Well," Dean said reluctantly, "He kinda… called me out, actually. Ripped me a new one for not thinking of the people and just wallowing in my guilt when I could be out there helping people, or at least getting better. His disgust was… it was so deep. I couldn't catch my breath, it was so thick. It felt like… I can't describe it with words."

"Then show me," Sam said, reaching out with his gift. Dean kept his own gift tight to him, afraid to let it loose in case he influenced someone. Dean was dangerously good at "convincing" people to do what he wanted. Sam could remember a few times before they had discussed ethics that Dean had inadvertently convinced their father into doing things that he didn't originally plan on doing. After he'd become King, they had invested in a man with a unique ability– he could suppress others abilities. Dean got used to only using his words, and only feeling what was directed at him so strongly there was no way it could be ignored. Empaths worked on emotion, after all, and some instincts just couldn't be suppressed. While Garth was around, he couldn't influence, but he could certainly feel.

And now, he could safely project and Sam could take it.

Sam watched as Dean's face relaxed, and even Benny, who had no power of empathy to speak of, paused as the wave of tightly bound emotion was loosened. The wave rocked through the room, relief and longing washing over them and tugging at their cores, followed swiftly by a burst of deep, aching unhappiness that was quickly squelched and reeled back to Dean. Sam's own Empathy all but _roared_ , every bit of it rebelling at just how deeply pained Dean was. Benny dropped to the floor, clutching his chest and muttering about leaking Empath's as Sam struggled to regain control. Dean, on the other hand, was basking in the feelings of protection and anger from Sam, which was essentially the equivalent of being angrily cuddled. It had been a long time since they had opened up to each other, and Sam found that holes in his gift he'd never noticed were being filled by the contact.

Dean, however, was so emotion starved that if Sam had attacked him with pure rage and hatred he probably would have simply laid down and luxuriated in it. To Sam's horror, he realized that by keeping Dean bound, he'd been essentially whittling away at Dean's emotional health.

"No more of that," he managed once they were both back under control. The initial release was always difficult to ride out, both parties adjusting to the other. "Every day, you got that? I don't care if it's me, or Ben, or even Krissy, you bond with someone. Hell, bond with Benny. But this isn't healthy, Dean, and I'm sorry that I didn't realize sooner."

Dean ducked his head, blinking quickly, and Sam looked away even though he could feel the relief and the sadness rolling off of him. He should have known about this, should have realized how bad it was for Dean to stay bottled up with no real outlet without Lisa to help, but he hadn't. Now things could change.

Benny gathered his things and quietly left the apartment. While Dean's bodyguard, he knew full well the dangers of being around Empath's without at least a modicum of protection.

Sam refocused on Dean, reaching out and feeling carefully over his brother with his mind. There were cracks and holes of misery, gaping wounds that should have been crippling. How Dean had so effectively hidden them from a house full of Empaths, one of them so strong at sensing he literally had to drug himself to stay sane, Sam had no idea. This was too far gone for him to even be able to handle touching it.

Dean gently moved him away from the holes, saying, "I know, I know, I'm all broken. Here, let's get back to business. You wanted to feel the disgust."

Sam nodded warily, sitting back into the couch and closing his eyes. While remembered emotions were weaker, memory often proved overwhelming and could end up being dangerous if not watched over. He felt Dean reach out, and there was a slight _push_.

The disgust hit him fast, distinctly flavored with the memory of Castiel, and followed by Dean's emotions. The disgust was harsh, grating on Sam's control and making him want to curl away despite the knowledge that it wasn't directed at him. But Dean's emotions were the interesting bit. They were fast, escaping before Dean could reel them back. Shame was the first, hot and heavy, weighing him down. The next was, to Sam's shock, a tiny tendril of lust that was quickly stamped down.

Sam's eyebrows shot up and Dean looked down, clearly mortified.

"Dean?" Sam said, his voice very careful. "Something you want to tell me?"

"…Not really?"

Sam carefully looked away, letting Dean get control of himself again. Dean could feel his sympathy, that was bad enough. The majority of the emotions pulled away from him, and he looked over again. Dean was reaching over to the table, picking up his veil again.

"Don't," he said, and Dean paused, surprised.

"You're always giving me shit for not listening to you about customs," Dean said, confused. "What is it?"

Sam just gave him a wry smile. "I miss my brother," he said simply. "Don't put him away just yet."

The tension slid from Dean's shoulders, and Sam relaxed into the couch.

Suddenly, things were looking up.

oOo

The country was very, very small. In her head, Claire knew that the country wasn't the smallest in the world, far from it, but it was small enough that people knew the royals, and the royals could be out with the people and remember names most of the time. As she walked through the market with Dean, she wondered just how she was going to adapt. She hadn't been kept from the people, far from it, but she'd never been able to remember names. Now she was all but required to, and there were so many differences between their cultures, she felt a little lost. Hair was worn short rather than long, make up was minimal, and the _clothes_.

The clothing people wore was strange. Much like her home, people wore pants, but instead of the wide, floating fabrics and gauzy tops that achieved the more desired androgynous look in her home country, people here wore their clothes tightly fitted to show off their bodies. Only those in mourning gear (much like Dean) had looser clothes, likely to avoid the heat. And speaking of that…

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Today he'd compromised after a long fight with Sam about propriety that she hadn't meant to overhear, and had dressed in a black silk oxford and comfortable black slacks. As per usual, he was veiled, and she could tell he wasn't happy about it. Even though he wore the lace around the house, and the muslin wasn't heavy, she knew he was upset by his enforced mourning. It was a little uncomfortable to watch him, in all honesty- he seemed so desperately lonely, so hungry for an affectionate touch, and no one outside of family was allowed to give that to him. Claire gently took his arm, and he leaned into her gratefully.

They took their time picking out little trinkets for Claire's family back home, and when it came time to leave Claire was entirely unsurprised to see a man in a hoodie and jeans trying to slip away from where he'd been following them.

"Your guards aren't doing a very good job today," she said, nodding at him as he nearly tripped over an old woman.

"Guards?" Dean asked, looking up from the bag he'd been double checking. "I didn't bring any guards."

There was a shout, and the man was shoved by the old woman's son, who'd taken affront at his mother nearly being hurt.

For a moment, the world went perfectly still. It was like the entire world had been simply paused, sound falling away as she looked at the man, whose hood had just fallen back to reveal his face. She knew it far too well.

"Oh, _shit_ ," she whispered, and the world snapped back into place as the two made eye contact.

Gadreel was his name, she knew. She had seen the pictures of him standing beside her uncle and father, heard the stories about everything he'd done in the revolution. He'd been imprisoned after, apparently for things he'd done while while he had been a spy in the palace. He'd been known by the code name Ezekiel. If he was here…

"We need to go," she said, grabbing Dean's arm. "Now."

Dean seemed surprised, but allowed himself to be dragged down the alley of tents. "What's wrong? No one felt violent."

Empath. Right.

"We were being followed, I'd prefer if we weren't," she said, zig-zagging through tents until they were out. "It seems my father doesn't quite trust people. Either that, or someone has a lot of money they're willing to spend to see to it that we're being watched."

Dean nodded, and with one quick movement, flicked her into the back of a tent. A woman tending the merchandise squawked in protest, only for it to die away when she saw who they were.

"My lord –" she started, clearly shocked. Dean simply lifted a finger to his veil to indicate silence, eyes somber. She nodded, eyes narrowing at Claire, who smiled at her. The smile seemed to ease some of the tension out of her, and she pointed to a basket full of beans.

"You're here, you work," she said firmly. "Snap them."

oOo

Gadreel was waiting patiently at the palace gates when they pulled back up, dressed as plain as could be and with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He gave Claire a long, deeply disappointed look as she cautiously rolled down the window.

"Ms. Novak, your father has an impressive set of lungs," he said in his steady, deliberate voice. The two had met before, on rare days when even the prisoners were allowed to petition the government. "I am surprised that you did not over hear our conversation from the city."

Claire cringed. "Sorry, I just had to make sure." She'd called her father on the way back, just to check, and sure enough, her father was paranoid to send a spy to care for her. No one was shocked.

Dean poked his head out the window, looking him over curiously. "So you're the famous Ezekiel."

Gadreel flinched. "Please. I am Gadreel."

"Gadreel what?"

"Only Gadreel. I am come to protect her," he said, nodding towards Claire. "She is the child of the revolution, a symbol of hope to my people. You must understand why James Novak, as both a father and a leader, is reluctant to merely hand her over to people he does not know well, and who have not protected her in past months."

Dean winced. "You have a point." Raising his voice, he called, "Gates!"

Gadreel nodded politely to them, and as the gates opened, he began the long trek up to the palace.

"Should we stop and let him in?" Dean asked, looking back out the window at him. Claire shook her head.

"The warriors always walk from the gates to the palace," she said quietly. "A reminder of the marches they took to ensure freedom. Gadreel was among the first to be captured, so when they hold the reunion marches, he doesn't get to participate in anything but the Swarm. That's when all the soldiers come together and mob around the palace. Father goes out with them, unarmed. He trusts them, and says if he gets killed, it's what the people would want." She shrugged, looking up at the odd, misshapen building before them. "Walking up to this place… he's honoring you, really. You and Sam, with him being the Regent. He'll come to the door, and ask for a formal introduction instead of sneaking in. That's honor."

"I'm not so sure about your honor," Dean said after a pause. "But I'll take it."

oOo

Gadreel stood impassively in front of him, in perfect parade rest. Dean eyed him, tapping his chin as Sam paced along the wall behind him. A letter of introduction lay on the desk, James Novak's bold print explaining the situation as much as it could.

"From what I understand," Dean said slowly, leaning forward with narrowed eyes, "James Novak, my ally and hopefully soon to be relation, released a known murderer, pardoned him, sent him into my country _without warning_ , had him follow me and his own daughter, and expects me to welcome him with open arms to protect my soon to be daughter in law. Have I got all that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Gadreel said, as calm and placid as a lake in July. "President Novak understands that my honor is in ruins. This is a punishment fitting of my crimes."

Dean sat back, incredulous. "A punishment. You've been freed, shipped out of your country, _absolved of a murder_ , and you call it punishment."

"I love my country, your grace," Gadreel said, showing the first sign of passion all day. He seemed so earnest, leaning in with wide, intent eyes. "I was content to rot alone in jail for the rest of my pathetic existence, so long as it was on the soil that I shed blood for. For so long we were slaves, and even being in prison in a free land was better than walking around knowing that I was owned by the state. To be forced to leave the place that I sacrificed my very soul for, well. It is a show of how much suffering I have yet to endure."

There was a quiet knock on the door, and Dean nodded to Sam to open it. They were quiet as it swung open to reveal Claire, who strode in confidently.

"Please let me keep him," she said without preamble. Dean's eyebrows shot up, and even Gadreel looked surprised.

"He's not a dog, Claire, he does need a bit more than food, water, and occasional ear scratches," Dean said dryly. Sam made a noise of annoyance. Dean and Sam's thoughts on dogs were well known. Dean, to say the least, didn't trust them.

"I'm aware of that," she said, not even glancing at Gadreel. "But please. He's a solid, devoted fighter, and a lot more subtle than Uncle is. We're getting nowhere on the poisoner, but Gadreel's experienced with things like this. He knows what to look for."

Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Fine. But if he kills anyone, including the poisoner, I will rain down hell."

"Thank you," Claire said fervently, putting her hands on her thighs and bowing deeply. Gadreel mimicked the bow, clearly uncertain about this whole bowing-to-royalty thing, and the two left, Gadreel exactly three steps behind her and looking as subservient as humanly possible. The door closed with a click, and Dean let out an explosive sigh.

"Things just got a lot more complicated."

oOo

A week later, Castiel Novak was having a crisis of conscious. He knelt in the small chapel that the palace had tucked away in a corner, and clutched his prayer beads tightly. The problem was named Dean Winchester, who, when not black clad and brooding and having to deal with withdrawals since he started dealing with his alcoholism after their little disagreement, seemed to be a decent kind of guy. And also probably attractive as fuck underneath the heavy veil he had to wear in public. His eyes alone had Castiel wanting to confess to impure thoughts. He'd been a priest, before the revolution. Now, with blood on his hands, he had left the cloth for a new order, the military, which gave him safety and control.

There was a soft touch to his shoulder, and he looked up to see his niece.

"My apologies," Claire said quietly, "but it's time for dinner. You've been in meditation since lunch, uncle."

"Have I?" he asked, dazed. He stood carefully, grabbing the bench in front of him when he swayed. It seemed his legs didn't quite want to keep him upright. Claire just smiled and let him wrap an arm around her shoulder to balance.

"Krissy and I had a good talk today," she said as they made their way to the dining room from the chapel. They walked slowly through the gardens, Castiel's legs coming back to him as they followed the meandering paths past Coleus, irises, weeping willows and dainty shrubs. The day was warm, and butterflies were floating about. It was all very picturesque, and the epitome of a palace garden.

"Krissy, huh?" Castiel smiled. "On nicknamed basis now, that's good."

"Well, we're getting married," Claire said with a shrug. "We better get along at least a little bit."

Castiel squeezed her shoulder. "I'm afraid I still don't understand why you agreed to this in the first place," he admitted. "They call you the daughter of the revolution, and you go off to marry into a country that still has a ruling and effective monarchy."

Claire smiled a little, shaking her head. "I was an idea, Uncle. The posters with me and that whole "Save Our Children" thing? That was when I was, what, four? I might still be an icon, but I'm not going to give up my own life. There's a whole world out there I've never seen, and I can still do some good in it. The best way is to increase my influence. I could have been a Queen- now I'll be a princess. I'll have the ability to travel, to change the way people think. Maybe I'll even be able to save some lives."

Castiel looked at her with a pleased smile. "You're all grown up and saving the world."

She laughed, leaning into his side as they passed the guards, walking up the steps. "I just want to make a difference."

"And you will, sweetheart," he said, his expression fond. "You will."

oOo

The revolutionaries stormed the palace three days later, when Krissy and Claire were having a nice picnic out on the front lawn.

There were six of them. They had protest signs.

"This is a first," Krissy said absently, looking at the protesters. "I mean, sometimes we see them out in front of the court buildings, but it's not like they're around a lot. There's generally not a whole lot to protest."

Claire watched them for a moment before waving over one of the guards. The man looked a little nervous, but came over. "Ms. Novak?"

"Let them in," she said. "And send someone else for more food."

The protesters joined them in mere minutes, and looked awkwardly down at them. Claire raised an eyebrow as Krissy looked on. "Are you going to sit down or not?" she asked. "Because I have food on the way for you, and in my country it is the height of rudeness to stand while you eat."

The six almost immediately collapsed onto the ground in their eagerness not to offend. There was some awkward arranging of signs and one of them nearly tripped onto the food, but everyone was eventually settled. Claire took a drink, knowing full well that they were being very closely watched by the guards. The six all looked like they wanted to both bolt and ask all the questions they could think of at the same time, their expressions eager but scared. There were four boys and two girls, all slightly scruffy and probably college students.

"So," she said when she put down her drink. "What are your complaints?"

"Um. What?" One of them said timidly, a skinny man with dark brown hair. He'd been introduced as Brian Wilcox.

"Your complaints. The reason you're wanting revolution," Claire said. "Where's your manifesto? List of demands? Anything?"

"Well, we don't like the taxes," the man said after they all looked at each other for a minute. "And…and there's a dentistry monopoly."

Claire and Krissy exchanged baffled looks.

"You can have a monopoly on dentistry?" Krissy asked, clearly lost. "How is that even possible? Is that even possible?"

One of the girls leaned forward, intense. Blonde, with short hair, she was named Kate. "There is. There are only three dentists with real skill in the entire country. And they all belong to the same union."

Claire's eyebrows furrowed as she considered this. "Let me get this straight… they belong to a union?" The group nodded. "Not the same company." Shaking heads. Claire stared at them, and then looked at Krissy. "Am I missing something here? How many dentists are there in the entire country?"

"63," the other girl, Madison, piped up. "There are 30 in the capital because it's the most densely concentrated population."

Claire looked them over. "Your devotion to knowledge of dentistry is…impressive." The group beamed, and Claire stared at them all, baffled. "But your only complaints are about a supposed monopoly on dentistry and taxes?"

The group looked a little less sure of themselves. Krissy hid her smile in her glass, obviously enjoying her conversation. Claire looked helplessly over the group, and then sighed. "I think we're going to have to take this inside. What do you think, Krissy? Could I use a lesson on the taxes of this country?"

"Oh, definitely," Krissy said mildly, watching as everyone went pale when they realized who she was. "A comprehensive, working knowledge of the taxes of the realm sounds like a useful thing to have. I'm sure that Counselor Singer would love to give you all the extended lecture on how things work."

One of the boys, Michael Wheeler, perked up. "I like Counselor Singer. He's nice."

One of the guards make a choking noise, and Claire raised her eyebrows. Surly, grumpy, and sardonic would have to be the words she used for Counselor Singer, but she supposed it was possible that sometimes he was nice. Possibly when drunk. "Well, I suppose that we'll have to go talk about taxes then. But first, if you'd help us finish off the food?"

oOo

Claire met Aidan on a particularly nice afternoon by complete accident. She'd been practicing her skills in stealth, stealing her way around the castle. Her uncle was being more and more inventive with his sneak attacks, supposedly to improve her defense skills, and she was utterly sick of being pounced on and forced to defend herself with various potted plants around the castle. Even Dean was remarking on how many new pots they needed these days.

( _"You have to be prepared for assassination attempts."_

_"I can't prepare if you keep nearly giving me stress induced heart attacks, Cas! I think that might be a bad thing!"_ )

So she spent plenty of time practicing quick, effective movements to avoid the guards and her uncle. It was going well, and she'd made a game of eluding the guards. So far, she was doing well, and it had the added benefit of being rewarding when they freaked out after she'd moved something while their backs were turned.

And then she overheard them.

"Seriously? You've been with her for _eight months_ and you haven't fucked?"

"Seriously," a vaguely familiar voice said. "She's a prude. Maybe getting stuck with the other weird prude'll loosen her up."

Claire paused, sliding behind a particularly ugly bust of Samuel Campbell and a rather lopsided purple vase.

"I mean, I get the whole "virgin princess" thing, but this is just dumb," the familiar voice continued. "I mean, if I'm going to be dating the princess I might as well be _getting_ something from it. And it's so annoying, because at first I thought she wasn't going to be at all interested in her, but now I'm thinking otherwise. I didn't work so hard for this for nothing, you know."

Claire's jaw tightened as she listened to them laugh. If this was the boy the Krissy planned on taking as a consort, she had a few things to say to him. She slid off the wall and walked around to face the little group of guards. They all hurriedly adjusted their uniforms, and she let her eyes pan over their uncoordinated movements. Any one of her father's soldiers could have taken them in a moment. Like all the other guards, they wore the simple black pants, green and gold livery, and standard weaponry. The slim black batons and stubby handguns issued to all the palace guards gleamed a little in the dim light. Aidan was easy to tell apart from the others. While they were shifting their feet and clearing their throats in embarrassment, he was looking right at her, eyes narrowed.

"So, you're the famous Aidan," Claire said thoughtfully. "I have to say, your beauty was greatly exaggerated."

"At least I'm not a gold digging, untitled bitch," Aidan snapped, and Claire raised an eyebrow a little surprised. The others shrank back, shocked.

"You aren't? Could have fooled me," she said coolly. "Stay away from my fiancé."

Aidan stepped forward, hand going to his baton, and Claire smiled.

"Try it, please. Just give me an excuse."

Aidan bared his teeth, but stepped back, and Claire slipped away back into the shadows, her heart pounding as she considered him. He'd been laughing and easygoing with his friends, but the second she showed up he turned vicious and cruel. She didn't like him, and the thought of Krissy being with him made her skin crawl. She'd have to figure out something.

oOo

"I want to woo your daughter," Claire said when she burst into Dean's study for their daily lessons on the running of a country, history, and other such thrilling topics like whether or not it was culturally correct in any country to wear socks with sandals (Yes. See Japan), and if movies were ever better than books.

Dean looked up from his rubix cube, startled. "Excuse me?"

"Your daughter. Krissy. I want to woo her. Her wannabe mistress is a dick who deserves a good beating, and I don't want to share her with a person like that. How do I woo her?" Claire dropped into the seat across the desk from him and stared intently. Dean's eyebrows were approaching his hairline at this point.

"Well, I guess we have the topic for discussion today," he said.

oOo

Dean had had just about enough of wearing black and being meek to last a lifetime. He smiled with his eyes and murmured agreements with the council as they left the room, having obediently sat at the back with his hands in his lap as Sam did all the talking as a Regent should. It was the first meeting he'd been allowed to go to, a break with tradition that had a few people side eyeing Sam, but everyone had clearly been happy to see him. He was even less happy with what he'd been forced to wear. Walking in the markets and being in his palace were acceptable places for standard black cotton. Council meetings, however.

The stiff silk manteau was incredibly uncomfortable, tight around his chest and then draping to his thighs. The slacks were Armani, the shirt also silk but finer, lighter to keep him from complaining. The veil today was made of black brocade, and dripped with jet beads. He wanted to die, despite the air conditioning.

Castiel waited for Sam, and the two talked together quietly for a bit before Sam left and Dean could finally stand up and leave. Since he wasn't technically supposed to be in the meeting, everyone was obligated to ignore him. Castiel, not being bound by customs, actually smiled when Dean reached him.

"Hello," he said pleasantly, and Dean felt a huge smile blossom under his veil. _Finally_ , a conversation that wasn't going to start with cold stares and haughty words about his mourning status.

"Hi," he said, drunk on the thought, and Castiel must have caught the relief, because he smiled again as they headed out into the library. They strolled along the second level chatting about nothing in particular as they did. A few of the other patrons quietly bowed to Dean, far deeper than necessary when he wasn't ruling, and he was more than a little thrilled at the way they would bow to Castiel as well. He would always look slightly baffled, and then carefully incline his head a few inches.

"I see you've stopped drinking," Castiel said in an undertone as he and Dean watched Gadreel and Claire play chess from the second level of the library. They were squabbling, Claire batting at Gadreel's hands as he tried to convince her that his move had been legal, thank you very much. She wasn't buying it.

"Not exactly," Dean said with a wry smile. "I mean, I quit cold turkey, but I won't stay quit. I can't. All I can do is learn to enjoy myself in moderation, and teach myself some control."

Castiel's eyes grew distant. "You'd be amazed what you can quit," he said quietly and abruptly turned on his heel, heading to the door to one of the other reading chambers with precise, unnervingly even steps. The man walked like he was constantly marching, measuring out each step so deliberately. Dean shook his head, trying very hard not to be disappointed, and descended the stairs to where Gadreel was now holding up his hands in surrender.

"Get him?" Dean asked, amused, and Claire grinned up at him, triumphantly holding up the white King. "Very good."

"She has her father's talent at the game," Gadreel said, his eyes fond. "President Novak is a master, and I would not be shocked if she could beat him soon."

Dean filed the thought away for later. A strategist for a daughter in law would be useful, to say the least. "I should play him when he visits. Cas won't play with me, apparently he thinks that it would violate the spirit of my mourning or something." He and Castiel had had an argument about it that Castiel eventually won on the sheer merit of being white and flatly refusing to move.

Gadreel and Claire exchanged glances.

"The sect that General Novak belonged to before the war was…strict," Gadreel said slowly, picking up the pieces and putting them in their places. It was one of Claire's sets, made with drawers and designed to fold up. A wedding present, it was a matched set to the game Krissy favored, the ancient game of Senet. Claire was starting to pick it up, but Sam was really the only one who played well enough to challenge Krissy.

Dean sat down at the table as Claire began putting the pieces back in place as well. "Yeah, Uncle's order is kind of weird like that. Their Mother Superior, or whatever the title is, she doesn't like displays of happiness when people are in mourning. When they were at war, she was known as the Iron Goddess because she took the statues of the gods down and made them into bullets." Gadreel hastily made a hand sign that Dean didn't recognize and Claire reluctantly copied, probably a symbol to ward off evil or something of the like. "Uncle barely laughed until the peace treaties were signed, and whenever we're out in town, he's very serious. They have all the memorials up, so he feels like he can't show that he's actually having a good time."

Dean frowned, watching as Gadreel latched the drawer. "Huh. What was her name?"

"Whose name?"

"The Mother Superior."

Gadreel was the one who spoke. "Naomi. Naomi de la Torre, I believe she was originally known, though she's since changed her name. She was once in line to rule, but gave it up to become a nun."

"Interesting." Dean rose, nodding to them both. "I'll see you at dinner."

Gadreel nodded, grimly surveying the board, and Dean walked away in a rustle of black fabric, the sleeveless silk manteau fluttering as he walked away.

oOo

From all over the country, and Claire's as well, gifts of money, rich cloth, a few animals, and weapons started pouring in. Krissy, in true Winchester fashion, begged and whined and pleaded until her father caved and agreed to let her test out a beautiful new hunting rifle. She, Sam, Dean, and Emma went over a weekend while Ben and Claire schemed with Amelia and Castiel (who was still confused as to how he'd been roped into the planning) about how to surprise them with gifts of affection when they came back, apparently a cultural tradition in the country as a thanks for their efforts.

Amelia, as it turned out, took the cake when it came to cute things to surprise their other half with. Sam had a pack of hunting dogs that he adored, but none that could really be considered pets. Amelia's own dog, a shaggy mutt she'd very imaginatively named Dog, had puppies, and so when the group cheerily trouped in, she was waiting with a smile and a tiny ball of fuzz named Peaches. Sam had honestly squeaked, scooping up both wife and puppy, nuzzling at them while Amelia laughed. The others met up, Castiel and Dean simply walking off to do their weird eye communication thing they did, Ben and Emma pressing their foreheads together and quietly murmuring soft words as he pressed a little hand carved wooden doll into her hands. It had a bright red sword in its hand.

Krissy looked over at Claire, grinning wryly. "What, no gift for me?"

Claire rolled her eyes, grabbing her hand and tugging her out to the garden. Krissy laughed, going along willingly as Claire wound them through the hedges to the pretty white gazebo that was hiding in the far corner. Krissy let out a positively relieved groan when she saw that the table inside was set for two.

"You're a beautiful woman, Claire," she said, dropping onto one of the chairs. "Is that steak? And wine? Oh, _god_ , and those _fantastic_ potatoes Cas made the other day? You are the absolute best."

Claire ducked her head with a smile, sitting down next to her. "How did the hunt go?"

"It was great," Krissy said enthusiastically. "Dad was having the time of his life scaring us, because he's all in black, so he'd hide in the shadows and jump out. If Sam hadn't been holding the guns someone probably would have shot him. And Emma is scary good at target practice, even six months along. It was kinda fun, too, because we went to the public grounds and kept running into people. I dunno if I've ever taken that many selfies with people."

"Did you have any luck?" Claire asked, cutting up the steak. Krissy shook her head.

"No," she said. "Dad did though. A nice sized buck, lovely rack. He's having it donated to one of the shelters in the city."

"That's kind of him," Claire said approvingly. "And after this, by the way, I've, uh." She blushed. "I managed to get my dad to send over the recording of Legally Blonde on Broadway, if you'd like to watch it with me? Ben told me you like musicals, and I thought-"

"I take it all back," Krissy said, her eyes going wide. "You're not only beautiful, you're also the most perfect person to ever live."

Claire just laughed.

oOo

"I think I could fall in love with you," Krissy said sleepily after a marathon of The Lord of the Rings. She had her head in Claire's lap, and Claire was carefully braiding her thick hair, almost a month after the hunting incident. They'd taken to spending most of their evenings watching movies, talking until they were both too tired and fell asleep. "It's weird, because you're all, like, _you_. And the person who was supposed to be with my brother, which is kinda weird, but Emma's great so I don't care. And you're all stiff and proper on the surface but then you, like, commune naked with the plants. And you love musicals and Lord of the Rings and really terrible zombie movies, and you pretend to be the most delicate girl in the world, but I've seen you practicing muay tai and krav maga with Cas. And you're beautiful and kind and only marrying me because an increase of power could help you save lives, which is fucking _awesome_. Aidan told me about that verbal smackdown you laid on him, too."

Claire's hands had frozen in their braiding, and Krissy reached up to take them, gently running her thumbs over her knuckles. It was three months to the wedding.

"Thanks, by the way," she said quietly. "I knew he was trouble, but he was there when no one else was. After he started bitching about you, I figured it out. So thanks. And I know we're not exactly conventional- hell, I don't even know if I like girls, let alone if you do."

"I do," Claire said, very quietly. "Boys more, but I like girls."

Krissy smiled, kissing Claire's palm. "And I guess…I could learn."

Claire ducked her head, long hair falling in front of her face. Krissy grinned up at her.

"You're so cute," she said, amused. "We're a weird pair."

"You could say so," Claire agreed, and on impulse Krissy leaned up and kissed her. The kiss was soft, chaste, and when they pulled away, Claire was smiling.

oOo

Dawn broke over the horizon the day of the wedding, and Claire couldn't stop staring at it.

She was sitting in the conservatory, the plants her only companions. The sunrise was exceptionally beautiful, the day already mostly cloudless, and as the sun carefully started to peek over the mountainous horizon, she was completely and utterly terrified. The plants rustled with her discontent, a philodendron wrapping around her arm in solidarity. Leaves and vines strained towards her, trying to comfort her as she pulled her knees to her chest, scared out of her mind.

A loud knock startled her, and she nearly fell over as the plants unwrapped from her and stretched up, apparently trying to scare the intruder. Given that most of them were daisies, tiny cacti, and long stems with fat leaves, this was perhaps not the best choice. Carefully, so that she didn't knock any over, she stood up and looked at the open door into her bedroom. Gadreel was standing there, his hands up in surrender as he looked at the plants, as placid as ever.

"Your uncle wanted to see you," he said calmly, for all appearances unthreatened by the plants. Granted, being threatened by tiny daisies and a few baby cacti probable wasn't much to him. "I told him I'd come and ask if you wanted to speak with him. Your parents are waiting downstairs, too. I can tell them you're not up yet."

He was giving her an out, a way to spend more time by herself.

"Did he say what he wanted to talk about?" Claire asked, sending a wave of reassurance to the plants. They relaxed, settling back into their normal routine.

"The wedding. He brought things for the old ceremonies."

Claire considered. "What do you think?"

Gadreel's eyebrow twitched up, the first real show of an expression she'd seen on him when he was actively trying to keep himself remote. "Pardon?"

"Do you think I should do the ceremonies?" she asked seriously. "You fought so that when I married, I wouldn't have to, so that people could choose whether or not to partake in religious beliefs they did not share. I don't believe in the old gods. Should I do it?"

Gadreel looked like he'd been unexpectedly smacked over the head with a large board. "You said so yourself, this is something I fought for, the choice to be religious or not. We were dictated by the laws of a man who claimed descent from the gods of the ancients, and you never knew the pains of being forced to pray to that which you didn't believe in. Your father…" he hesitated. "Your father was a dedicated man. Dedicated to a god, not the church that our dictator demanded we worship at. It was there that it all began. Your uncle has always been a holy man, devoted to the Goddess, but forced to bow to Gods he did not believe in to appease the church. I was a dedicate of the order sworn to kill those who did not bow to that God. I know, perhaps better than anyone, how belief can corrupt."

Claire was silent as he looked to the floor, clearly gathering himself.

"All the same," he said at last, looking up, "we are an old, old people, Claire Novak. Your name literally means brightness and clarity, and your surname is associated with a stranger in a strange land. You are in a strange land, and you must now see clearly. Your actions will mean little to the people here- they can worship as they please, there is no state god to appease. But you have the history of ages on your shoulders. Should you partake in the ceremony, you honor the memory of your ancestors, and you honor the beliefs that they died for. If you do not, you still honor the sacrifice of those who fought so that you did not have to bow down to Gods and Goddesses that you do not believe in. Either path is honorable, and either will be criticized, but not by me, and certainly not by your father."

Claire walked forward and hugged him tightly around the waist. He stood frozen for a minute, and then carefully hugged back.

"Thank you," she said into his shirt. "Thank you for giving me a choice, and being there to support me."

Gadreel made a little sound that might have been a sniffle, but she didn't look up, sparing him his dignity.

oOo

Gadreel stood behind the couch as Castiel rolled out the old, tattered tapestry cloth on the coffee table. The room, close to the main doors for ease of access to the outdoors, was one of the lesser used sitting rooms. In accordance with tradition, there were no lights on. Claire looked down at the table, the small objects sitting quietly on the tapestry depicting the last great battle before the first reign of the kings. They seemed utterly insignificant, but the weight of history kept her from scoffing at them, or the faded pictures of the men in battle. These particular pieces had been handed down for generations of the Novak family.

Castiel picked up the first item. An old, battered comb, it was toothed on both sides. One set of teeth was much finer than the other. The comb itself was made of bones.

"Bone," Castiel intoned in the old High Tongue, offering it to her. "The bones of the fallen, from before when we had words to know their names. Bone, the interior, the shaper, the thing that holds the body."

She took the comb, and pulled it through her hair. Gadreel stepped forward, pulling her hair back into a ponytail so that the thicker teeth could be pushed into it, keeping it in place.

"Bone is the last of what we are," Castiel intoned in High Tongue. The whole ceremony would be performed in it. His rosary dripped from his left hand. "And so it is honored first. How will you honor the bones?"

Claire repeated the words she'd heard friends say before, the words she'd known since before she knew what they meant, she'd heard Castiel say them so many times. "I honor the bones by living long, by living with strength and with honor."

Castiel nodded, and she nodded back.

James stepped forward, picking up a long, thin knife, worn from so much use it was thin as a razor and as long as his forearm. The handle was wood, worn from use and dark with the oils of hands. "Blade," he intoned, flicking it in the symbol for infinity. "Blade of the fallen, from before we had names for such things. Blade, the destroyer, the carver, the thing that makes and unmakes."

He flicked it in his hand, catching it easily and offering it to her, the blade toward himself. She took it carefully, taking two hairs and cutting them, one to each side.

"Blade is what we do in life," James said, his eyes somber. "And so it is honored second. How do we honor the blade?"

Claire intoned back in new words that she'd run past Gadreel before she'd come down. "I honor the blade by knowing when not to lift it, by lifting it when those I love fear death at the hands of others, and by knowing that the blade will turn on me if I act without honor."

Castiel was rigid, as if waiting for a god to strike them down, but James smiled widely. No lightning appeared, so she assumed she must have appeased the blade.

Amelia stepped forward, picking up the third piece. "Earth," she said, holding a tiny vase, plain brown earth. "Mother of the living, mother of the fallen, from the time before we had names for any and all things. Earth, the giver, the protector, the thing that gives life and takes it away."

She handed her the vase, and Claire took it in her right hand. Leaning over, she breathed into it, symbolically giving her life back to it.

"Earth is the first of what we are, the giver of the life that makes us. And so, it is honored last, the circle closed. How will you and yours honor the earth?" Amelia asked, a little teary.

Claire smiled. "Together, we honor. Together, until death, and after."

Gadreel stepped around as the other three stepped back, the ritual officially done and the last section about to begin. Traditionally, Castiel should have been the one to give the advice as a priest, but where Gadreel had been a dedicate as well, it was acceptable.

"You hold history in your hands," he said, picking up the tapestry. "See, before you, the history of our people. It is violence and death, bloodshed and pain. But also there was love, and devotion. The first kings gave their lives in the end, the first queens defended their homeland from those who would pillage and plunder. People have loved even during wars and tumult, even in times where it was forbidden for them to go forth and be married." Gadreel's hands shook a little at that, and she thought of the man he'd always stood beside when the petitioners had been brought up from the cells. "But times change. We are at peace now, there are no villages we must protect, no lives that must be laid down to protect our homes and families. Claire, you go into this new country as a symbol of peace, and a reminder of war. Do not forget that. You hold history in your hands, you go forth to marry. You honor us with your sacrifice. You honor our past, and you preserve our future. Our home is safe. Now it is time to honor your heart. Learn to love."

Claire carefully stood as Gadreel set the tapestry down. The other three came forward, taking the vase, blade, and comb and setting them back on the tapestry.

Claire closed her eyes as Castiel drew the infinity symbol on her forehead, and let her parents lead her to the door to the outside. Warm sun hit her face, and she opened her eyes, looking out over the gardens that stretched before her. There was a lump in her throat as she looked out over the trees and flowers, the delicately shaped paths with their green grass and the maze before her.

"Here is your new home," Amelia said, gesturing out.

"Protect it well," Jimmy said, stepping back as she gripped the railing.

"Be strong," Castiel said from behind her, and her heart soared.

Finally, she felt _home_.

oOo

There was a knock on Krissy's door about the same time that the ceremony started in the sitting room.

"Krissy, I know you're awake." Dean's voice was muffled, but loud. "You have all of two minutes to be at this door and opening it before I make Benny find some screwdrivers, or a battering ram. Whichever comes first. Personally, I'm betting on the battering ram."

"DAD!"

"Kirstiana Alisa Samantha Winchester, I will NOT have my daughter married off without imparting some damn parental wisdom into that thick but lovely head of yours!"

Krissy threw open the door, scowling as Dean grinned at her from behind a lace veil. Benny looked like he was counting the days to retirement, particularly after he saw that she was in the bright pink Hello Kitty pajamas that Ben had given her as a joke at Christmas. "You are terrible."

"I know. Perks of being king." Dean gestured. "Now, can I come in and impart my wisdom so that you can go back to freaking out in peace?"

She gave him a long, cautious look, and carefully pulled open the door. Dean all but pranced inside, apparently in a wonderful mood, and Krissy shut the door. Her rooms were more open than Claire's, the couches thick and plaid, overstuffed but well worn. Dean flopped down onto one, patting the cushion beside him. She sat down reluctantly, crossing her arms over her chest. They sat there in silence for a minute, both staring absently at the dark TV and the fireplace, before Krissy said grudgingly, "Thanks for coming."

Dean wrapped an arm around his daughter, squeezing her gently. "What, you think I don't remember how scary it is?" He said gently. "I remember every minute of that day. Your mom was a good woman, but she was also incredibly terrifying. I was scared shitless that Dad was going to murder me or something, and she was going to hide the body where no one could ever find it."

"Because you had a one night stand and he didn't want a bastard?" Krissy asked.

Dean looked at her oddly. "Who told you that?"

She looked away, ducking her head. "The kids at school."

Dean sighed, squeezing her again. "They were wrong. Lisa and I met when I was out on a trip to the country. She was teaching yoga, I was the prince who got whatever he wanted, and I talked her into a night that turned into a week. It was a really great week, I'll tell you that, and then we went our separate ways. That was how it was supposed to go. But then… then came Ben. She knew pretty fast that she was pregnant, so we made up the story about how we'd been secretly dating, and married quick as we could. I never really forgave myself for letting dad pressure us into that. He barely acknowledged her until after Ben was born- he didn't trust her not to run off until you were."

Krissy leaned into him, closing her eyes as she listened.

"After that, you know how it went. We loved you two so hard that we made it work. We would have married monkeys and moved to the zoo if it meant we could keep you two together. We were happy. It wasn't true love, it wasn't perfect, but my god, we were happy." Dean kissed the top of her head. "Krissy, I'm sorry. The marriage agreements were never supposed to be more than in name only, but then you both agreed, and…" He sighed.

"It's okay, dad," she said quietly. "Really. We're happy, and I mean that. We're good together."

"Yeah?" Dean kissed the top of her head again. "That's good. Because if you weren't, if you have doubts, now's the time to call this off. Either that or at the altar, take your pick."

"I don't," Krissy said, sitting up a little. "I mean, I do, but more about how well I'm going to be able to walk in heels down the aisle, not like, life serious ones. Claire and I… we work. And I think I love her." Dean smiled, and she continued, emboldened. "Every time I see her now I get butterflies and start thinking about how great it would be to see her walking towards me down the aisle, or waking up with her, or just walking through the gardens listening to her talk about all the different plants. It's weird because we're so different, but I love her."

She leaned back into him, suddenly struck by her words.

"I think you're going to be okay then," Dean said gently, and kissed her cheek. "Your mother would be so proud."

Tears stung her eyes, and Dean wrapped her in his arms as solitary cloud in the sky dissipated.

oOo

"That was the longest wedding I've ever been to," Krissy said, flopping onto a couch as the party in the ballroom raged on. When Claire joined her, she leaned her head on Krissy's shoulder. Krissy's dress was an ornate, neatly fitted sheathe that opened in an upside down v from her knees, and had a train about ten feet long elaborately embroidered with animals. Her hair was pulled up, her makeup minimal. Claire was dressed in warm lilac, her dress loose fitting, just above floor length and belted at her waist with a silver belt that looked like it was made of leaves. Her hair was loose, and in her hair were woven flowers as was proper in her culture. She went barefoot, as was customary, while Krissy wore stark white heels.

"We're _married_ ," Claire said, holding up her finger. The ring was plain, with just a simple diamond set into a channel. Krissy's ring was identical, but with an engraving on the inside of a nightshade leaf.

"Weird," Krissy said, grinning. "Did you see Dad? He was sobbing like a little kid."

"Mine was right there with him," Claire said with a grin. "At least Ben was okay- I was worried that he'd get overwhelmed."

Ben's Empathy gifts had skyrocketed after Emma had delivered their son, who was being called Jesse. He was often forced to step aside, grounding himself against the flood of emotions. He had been taught the art of blocking them out, but where he had so much power to handle, it was getting more difficult.

"Still up for sex?" Krissy asked, elbowing her. "Because not to pressure you or anything, but I'm kind of excited about this whole "losing my virginity" thing."

"You're certain you want it to be me?" Claire asked, taking her hand. "I mean, we could wait, find a guy for you."

"You know that thing we just did?" Krissy said, smiling. "Well, I didn't say no, and it wasn't because of duty or honor or anything. I did it because I fell in love with you. And hey maybe I don't like girls, but I love you. And that's enough for me."

"You do love?" Claire asked, a little worried. "I feel like it's a Stockholm syndrome thing. What if you only like me because we got thrown together?"

"Claire," Krissy said, amused. "We're in an _arranged marriage_. Learning to love each other despite that is the whole point. And besides, you're nice and like the things I like, and that's enough. I'd rather be with someone like you, who shares my interests and knows how to stand up to me than someone whose bits fit a little better with mine."

Claire stared at her for a moment, a slight blush on her cheeks. "That may be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," she said at last, and leaned over to kiss her. Krissy learned into it, hands winding in her hair.

"Honestly," Claire said when she pulled away, "I was so miserable when I first got here. I thought... I thought I might end up like Dean, stuck in a loveless marriage and unable to ever be happy. Looks like I was wrong about that."

"Looks like," Krissy agreed, and was about to kiss her again when Castiel and Dean careened into the room holding champagne flutes and giggling.

"To our princesses!" Castiel cheered, his cheeks red.

"Yes!" Dean bellowed, shoving the flutes into their hands. "To long lives and glorious union and maybe a Queenship!"

Krissy and Claire exchanged looks.

_"What?"_

oOo

"It's true," Sam said when they found him. He'd managed to sequester himself away in a window seat, Amelia asleep on his chest. "Ben's seriously thinking about abdicating, thank God. The line of succession would go to you, because no one really wants me on the throne."

Krissy kept looking like she was about to have a heart attack, and Claire helped her sit at one of the small tables. Gadreel had conveniently sidled up to them, and kept his hand on his baton so that the other guests would stay away. The party was in full swing, and on the dance floor it looked like Castiel and Dean had given up and started an enthusiastic waltz. Claire gently rubbed her back, trying to be soothing.

"Would it be okay if I went and got some air?" Krissy asked quietly. "I'll take Gadreel with me so I don't get mobbed, I just- I need to think for a minute."

"Of course," Claire said, surprised that she thought she had to ask. "Take all the time you need, I'm just going to go freshen up and then dive back in."

Krissy smiled, leaning in to gently kiss her. Claire felt a brief flash of relief that her new wife's kisses were only gentle in public, and she quickly derailed that thought before she could be distracted.

"Go on," she said, standing up. "I'll go play with the crowd."

Krissy mouthed a quick "thank you", and then headed out the door with Gadreel in tow. Claire squared her shoulders, smiled, and sailed into the crowds. They thronged her quickly, and she was soon surrounded by well wishers, government attaches from all over the world, and a few rather famous stars that she'd been surprised merited an invitation.

When she finally managed to get away for a few minutes, Claire found herself in one of the small, tucked away bathrooms near the ballroom. It was blissfully empty, as well as quiet, with soft pink walls and rich marbled floors. The mirrors were edged in what looked like brass, and the sinks themselves had delicate designs all over them. She braced her hands on the sink, trying to keep from shaking too much.

Queen.

Krissy could be queen. She might end up with a country after all, and somehow, that was more terrifying than when she'd first been betrothed to Ben. She'd been preparing, however unconsciously, for the life abroad that lesser nobility lead. Now she might be trapped her except for when they had to go out and meet with other countries. While the little country wasn't bad, she wasn't certain just how much she wanted to be stuck in the palace. She'd be a consort, nothing more.

The door quietly opened, and she looked up to see Aidan of all people. He was in his uniform, his face somber.

"Hello," she said, tired and not quite willing to deal with him at the moment. "Is there something you need?"

Aidan stepped forward, considering her. "You know, all this time I've been thinking to myself, what I'd do just to be beside her," he said, his voice soft and low. "Thinking about all the people I could help with her power and influence. She's weak, you know. Very weak. She needed me to even convince her to talk to you, you know that? She couldn't even get up the nerve to do _that_." He sneered, and suddenly Claire realized that she was far enough from the party that no one could hear her scream. She was backed into a corner without even any windows, just a locked door. "Poor little Krissy, all alone without her mommy and daddy drinking himself to an early grave. It was so easy to get involved with her. And I would have been happy as a mistress, but you know what you went and did?" His voice was trembling with rage. "You got her to _like_ you. Poor little Claire, away from her family, and she started to like you. Benjamin broke it off with you before, why couldn't she?"

Claire was suddenly wishing she'd agreed to the slits in her dress's pockets. There was a knife strapped to her thigh, and she didn't know how to get to it.

"And then, lo and behold, a _nun_ comes to me. A freaking nun comes to me and gives me poison and money and tells me that you are evil and have to be put down. I can't say I fought her too hard on that front. She gave me poison, and instructions, and I went for it, because you." Aidan pointed a shaking finger at her. "You _bitch_ , you never had to earn this, you didn't have to _fight_ for the person you wanted to marry. You haven't had to work a day in your life and somehow you marry into royalty, and you'll rule a country."

Claire drew herself up, offended. "I worked, you idiot," she snapped. "I worked full time at a grocery store as a manager. The president isn't paid. I worked in _retail_ before that!"

"And that qualifies you to run _my_ country?"

"No, a Bachelors in Political Science does!"

The gun came out then, slick and shining. She froze, her eyes widening. She knew what to do in this situation, how to wrest it away, her body remembered and Castiel had drilled it into her head as soon as she could get her fingers around something and hold it. But this was real life. Here was a man who wanted to murder her, and as she shifted into position to dodge when he inevitably fired, she thought of Krissy. She'd probably die alone, without telling her again that she loved him, and she did. She did, and hell, this was not the time to have these kinds of realizations.

And that was when the door opened, and Krissy, in her beautiful white dress, raised a fist adorned with thick rings.

"Hi, Aidan," she said in disgust. "I have some bad news for you."

With one smooth motion, she punched him out as he turned. He was unconscious by the time he hit the floor.

"I'm just _not_ that into you."

Claire looked up from the unconscious Aidan at Krissy and said, with feeling, "You are the absolute best, you hear me?"

Gadreel pushed his way in, looking utterly panicked. "Claire!"

She let him check her over before rushing over to Krissy, pressing kisses over her face as her heart hammered. Krissy pressed a kiss to her forehead, clearly relieved.

"I'm so sorry, I lowered my guard," Gadreel said desperately, handcuffing Aidan. "I felt it as soon as you panicked, so I rushed us over."

Claire looked over at him, confused as she leaned into Krissy's hold.

Gadreel swallowed hard, hauling Aidan up. "I have a gift," Gadreel said quietly. "I sense impending danger."

Krissy and Claire exchanged looks, and just as they were turning to leave, the doors flew open and Ben stormed in, clearly panicked. "Krissy!"

Krissy grabbed him before he could charge Aidan. "Whoa, hey, calm down, we got the bad guy."

"You did?" Ben's eyes were wild, his brown hair sticking up like he'd been electrocuted. "He was going to kill her! I felt it, I felt it clear upstairs, I was so scared I was too late!" He grabbed Claire and pulled her into a bone crushing hug. "Never nearly die again, okay? That shit is terrifying. I don't like it. Don't do it." He squeezed tighter, and she carefully patted his back, trying not to wheeze. The man was strong.

Gadreel looked antsy, so Claire carefully extricated herself from Ben's hug and let him take Aidan away. Ben followed, looking anxious and possibly a little deranged, leaving Krissy and Claire alone together. They looked to each other, and Krissy let out a little laugh, incredulous. "I think this might be a sign that we shouldn't go anywhere without each other."

"He implied that he was given instructions by someone else," Claire said, stepping in so that Krissy could wrap her arms around her and gently rub her back. They stayed like that for a good long while as Claire struggled to get control of herself again. The fear was fading, but not fast enough.

"Come on," Krissy said once Claire could breathe normally again. "Let's excuse ourselves and go upstairs, okay?"

Claire nodded, squaring her shoulders.

"I love you," she said earnestly. "I mean it. I didn't really realize it until now, but I really do. I love you."

A smile slowly started to spread across Krissy's face. "Well that's good, because I love you too."

Claire couldn't help but laugh, a little hysterical. "God, today was just the day I needed to figure it out, and it only took a gun to my face for me to get it." She shook her head, pulling Krissy in for a hungry kiss. "Tell someone else to make our excuses, my lady, I want you in bed ten minutes ago."

Krissy laughed, and pulled her from the room.

OoO

Not everything went so smoothly.

Claire had seven more attempts on her life, five of which she personally countered and brought the culprit to justice. It was some time before they learned that it was none other than the Mother Superior Naomi, Castiel's former boss. Apparently, she had some thoughts on being part of a republic, and as a way to punish both Castiel for leaving the church and Jimmy for deposing the late tyrant, she decided to kill off Claire. She was brought to a group trial, and after some consulting of both laws, it was decided that she would serve 8 years in prison, and be executed on the 17 of January, the traditional day for executions of those who had attacked the royal family. Dean had wanted immediate execution, but to everyone's surprise, it was Claire who asked for the prison to give her time to appeal or think.

After the trial, Ben formally abdicated, leaving Krissy second in line to the throne. Sam gave up the mantle of Regent when Dean came out of his mourning blacks, and the entire country rejoiced to see their king again. The parties lasted for weeks, and exactly no one was surprised when on the day that Dean was recrowned, Castiel was in attendance in full dress uniform, smiling.

That night, Krissy pulled her wife into bed, smiling when Claire firmly butted her head under her chin.

"Did you like the party?"

"I did," she said sleepily. "Especially that bit where Dean knighted Uncle Cas and they did the whole dramatic kissing thing and everybody started cheering. That was cool. I didn't know people still did that and it _meant_ something."

Krissy chuckled, pulling the blankets over them. As the next in line, they should have been moved into the opulent quarters set aside for Krissy when she officially came of age, but it was far from the gardens. They had decided simply to stay in the garden suite, with Claire's conservatory blossoming and creeping beside them. The moonlight was shining down through the glass now, bathing them in silver light, and Krissy felt tension slide away. They'd been on good behavior for the party, but now…

"You are _insatiable_ ," Claire grumbled when Krissy teasingly walked her fingers down her side, light as could be.

"Utterly."

Claire resolutely ignored her for a minute, only to squirm and laugh a little when Krissy reached a ticklish spot. "Hey!"

Krissy mercilessly teased her until she was rolling with laughter, trying to get away, and then she pounced. Stilling her hands, she kissed her, and Claire smiled into it, kissing back. When they parted, her eyes were bright and her smile wide.

"You're terrible."

"You love me."

"You know? I really, really do."

And all was well.

**Author's Note:**

> "There Will Come Soft Rains" is by Sara Teasdale.


End file.
